Voulez Vous
by Liris
Summary: Gambit and Rogue meet for the first time, in a nightclub of all places. It should be a happy event, right? Try telling that to Rogue. Canon with all 4 movies.
1. Chapter 1

My first attempt at an XMen fic went ok, so here's the second. Totally unrelated; this one is canon with all 4 movies and definitely not as innocent. There's nothing explicit in it, but hey, it's Gambit. What you gonna do?

This is a two-shot, set about a year after X3. The first part is from Gambit's perspective, the next will be from Rogue's. It'll probably be uploaded sometime Thursday, depending on how heavy my workload decides to get between now and then. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: If I owned it, I would not be having problems paying my rent.

* * *

><p>The girl looks barely old enough to be here, though she must be at least 21 to get past the bouncer on the door of the club. He's nothing if not thorough, Gambit thinks wryly, recalling his own encounter with the man. He had been convinced that Gambit's ID was fake - which it is, but the age on it is genuine. What is the point masquerading as a 20-something when he's almost 40? He rolls his eyes. He hasn't been ID'd for more than 10 years; evidently, the bouncer has no sense of age. Either that, or he's just paranoid.<p>

Gambit shrugs, pushing his ire to the back of his mind. He's in now, and the first person to catch his eye is the pretty young thing at the bar, sitting on a stool and staring forlornly into the frilly pink cocktail in front of her. She is alone, or she looks it, and the upset and anger radiating from her make him flinch from thirty feet away. He wonders why she would come to a club when she's pissed off so badly. Then, shaking his head at his own stupidity, he makes his way towards her.

"Gotta stop with the damsels in distress," he mutters to himself. So what if they're normally great in bed? They're more trouble than they're worth. That doesn't stop him taking a seat next to her and ordering a bourbon. The bartender shuffles off, and he turns to the girl. Up close, he realizes she's not just pretty; she's stunning. Auburn hair, with a unique white streak at the front. Green eyes sparkling with temper, and skin so pale and perfect it might belong to a porcelain doll. Why is this girl alone?

He leans closer to her and touches her hand with his to attract her attention. She jumps and looks around at him. Those emerald eyes narrow.

"What do you want?" she snarls. Instead of backing away like most - okay, all - other men would have, he merely raises an eyebrow.

"That's not too friendly, chérie."

She snorts and turns back to her drink, stirring it more forcefully than necessary and sending some splashing to the bar. Something really got under this girl's skin.

The bartender comes back with Gambit's drink and he hands the man money without looking. This girl is intriguing him, and not just because she's beautiful. She's covered head to toe in clothes, which is decidedly against the norm in any club, let alone this one. A long sleeved green t-shirt, short black denim skirt, thick black tights and gloves. Her face and neck is the only skin she's showing. He's not sure how she can stand it; he's wearing decidedly less and he's too warm. He nudges her fingers with his own again.

"Leave me alone," she snaps, not looking at him. He really should leave, but she's just made herself a challenge; no girl has outright rejected him in a long time. He groans internally. He could never resist a challenge. It's been his downfall more than once, but apparently he just refuses to learn because his mouth is moving without any input from his brain.

"Why did you come to a club if you don't want company? Seems counter-productive to me."

That succeeds in attracting her attention, and this time there is less anger in her eyes when they meet his. No, instead they shine with unshed tears.

"Why do you care? No-one else does."

At times like this, he hates his empathy. He winces at the sorrow she's transmitting and puts his hand back on hers. She pulls away, turning her head back to her drink.

"Don't touch me."

Does she think that ignoring him is going to make him leave? Even if she isn't the prettiest thing he's seen all night, he can't leave her alone when she feels like this. Maybe he can charm her into a better mood, and then do as she asks and move on to a more willing partner. He can see a blonde at the other end of the bar, eyeing him from under her lashes. He ignores her for the moment. Deal with one thing at a time.

He reaches for her chin to tilt her face back towards him. His charm only works if he can see their eyes. As soon as his fingers make contact with her skin, she gasps and jumps off her stool, and absolute terror overrides her other emotions. What does she think he's trying to do? And what has been done to her in the past to make her react like that?

"Calm down, chère," he says, reaching out empathically to help her do so. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

She looks at him like he's mad.

"It's not me I'm worried about."

What does that mean? Is it some kind of threat? He gives her a quick once over. There's no way a petite thing like her could do any damage to him in a fight; not that he holds with fighting women. If she goes for him, he'll have to restrain her until she calms down.

"Chérie..."

She's finally looking at him properly, so he tries his charm. He has no idea whether it works or not. She does calm down, but the next words out of her mouth are so odd that he doesn't know what to make of them.

"I wouldn't hurt you on purpose - God I _hate_ that - but you'd get hurt, and it would be my fault. It always is."

The bartender is watching the interaction with undisguised interest, but nobody else seems to have noticed what's going on. Hell, _he_ doesn't know what's going on.

"Chère, I don't understand."

Sometimes, honesty gets you more answers than lying and charming. This appears to be one of those cases. The girl sighs, and a tear silently trails down her cheek.

"Nor do I," she sniffs. His heart softens. Yes, she's a little crazy, but she's so vulnerable. If he ever gets his hands on whoever's responsible for her deer-in-headlights attitude, he's going to blow them up. For now, though, he takes three slow, careful steps towards her, gauging her reactions to him. She doesn't move away, so he gingerly reaches out again, laying his hand on her cheek, barely touching her. Her eyes go very wide, and she pulls away again, shouting.

"Are you crazy! Do you want to get hurt? Don't _touch_ me!"

He narrows his eyes at her. She's borderline hysterical.

"What's your name, chérie?"

She blinks at the sudden topic change and her fear abates a little.

"R-Rogue," she stammers. Why the hell is she so scared? He walks back to his barstool and sits, taking a sip of his bourbon. After this conversation, he needs it. She watches him warily.

"Je m'appel Gambit," he says conversationally, as though her freak-out never happened. Cautiously, she sits again, though she's perched on the very edge of her stool, ready to make a quick getaway if necessary. At least she's not terrified out of her mind any more.

"Gambit?"

"Oui."

If he doesn't get her real name, then she doesn't get his. Seems fair to him; there's no way he's going to believe that 'Rogue' is anything other than an odd nickname. Silence has fallen between them, and though it's strained, it's less stressful than any conversation would apparently be. He finishes his bourbon and gestures for another. She sips at her cocktail, gripping the glass with difficulty through her gloves. He watches her struggle.

"Why not lose the gloves? It'd make it much easier."

She throws him a startled look, and he raises his hands, palms outwards.

"I won't touch you, chérie; promise."

She narrows her eyes at him, but tugs them off briskly, laying them beside the glass within easy reach. Now that he can talk without her snapping at him, he tries his luck again.

"Aren't you hot in all that getup, chère?"

"It's better than the alternative," she mutters. He doesn't think he's supposed to have heard, so he doesn't reply, but the comment confuses him. What alternative? Baring some skin? Maybe she's disfigured in some way; that would explain why she's all covered up. Some kind of accident? But, by the way she keeps flinching and creating distance between them, he's more inclined to think she's been abused at some point. He clenches his jaw. He wants to ask, but knows from personal experience that things like that are not easy to talk about, and especially not something you blurt out to a stranger in a club. She's right; he should leave her alone. There's nothing he can do for her; she's made it perfectly clear that she doesn't like or trust him at all. He really needs to go before he does something stupid.

His bourbon arrives, and he pays and stands, nodding to her politely. There are three women close by who look much more accommodating; he'll go talk to one of them. Or all three. It's going to take a lot to get Rogue and her plight out of his head.

He turns to leave, trying to ignore her wide eyes at his sudden disinterest, and his hand brushes against the length of hers. It is not intentional - she must have reached for her gloves at the same time he moved, because her hands were further away than that before - but that doesn't stop her from gasping. He closes his eyes briefly, trying to pretend that her reaction doesn't affect him, and starts to move away. The closest of the three women winks at him. He smiles and is about to wink back, when Rogue touches his hand tentatively. His eyes go very wide and he looks around at her. His empathy informs him of her emotions, as if he couldn't read them on her face. Confusion, fear and - wonder? What the hell?

She looks up at him, amazed.

"I can touch you."

He has no idea how to react. The girl is clearly crazier than he previously thought. _Way to pick the __filles__, Gambit_ he thinks scornfully. He really needs to get over his 'damsel-in-distress' thing. It only ever leads bad places.

"I can actually touch you," she continues, reaching out again. This time, it is Gambit who pulls away.

"Pardon?" he asks, unsure if asking for clarification is the wisest thing to do. She blinks and laughs hollowly.

"Oh, sorry. You must think I'm insane."

He doesn't reply. He had, indeed, thought that. What sort of girl screams at a man not to touch her, then sits stroking his hand in wonder? He edges away. If he can get out of the club, he's pretty sure she won't follow. He hopes.

"I'm a mutant," she confesses quietly, pulling her hands back to her lap. "I absorb people through skin contact."

Gambit freezes. Mutant? If she's telling the truth, then maybe she's not so crazy after all.

"Absorb?" he questions, still not sitting down. The woman who winked gets tired of waiting and walks off. He's not sure if he cares; Rogue just got interesting again.

She stares intently at her drink while she speaks, fingers fidgeting nervously.

"I take memories, thoughts, powers if they're a mutant. They go into a coma. I can't control it."

Gambit sits back down beside her. Her reactions are suddenly making a lot more sense.

"I took the Cure a year ago," she confesses in a small voice, tears falling again. He thinks he understands now.

"But the Cure wasn't permanent," he finishes. She shakes her head.

"My powers came back, really fast, about a month ago. I absorbed someone and I couldn't stop it. She..." Rogue's shoulders hunch and she rocks forward, crying. Gambit puts his bourbon on the bar and stands, gingerly putting one arm around her. He doesn't do too well with sobbing women.

"It's alright, chérie. Not your fault."

"Sh-she d-died," Rogue stutters, shaking. He allows his free hand to play with her hair, hoping it calms her.

"Not your fault," he insists. She takes a deep breath and sits more upright, looking at him through glassy eyes.

"I _killed _her! How is it not my fault?"

"You didn't know they were coming back. You didn't mean to do it."

"Hell no!"

"Then, it couldn't be stopped."

Her sobs abate and she looks at him in wonder again.

"Why are you so accepting?"

It's part accusation, part genuine question. He sighs and reveals a slice of the truth to her. No way can this delicate little thing handle his life story.

"I'm a mutant too," he says. "Empathy and bio-kinesis."

"Bio-what?"

He reaches for her cocktail glass and charges it up. The glass glows magenta for a second, then he recalls the charge.

"If I hold on long enough, it blows up."

She stares at the glass a while longer.

"Does it work on people too?"

She's put two and two together quite nicely, regards his easy acceptance of her murderess status. He's both impressed with her intellect and uneasy that she can read him so easily.

"It used to," he says shortly. She's smart enough not to ask any further.

"Since my mutation, I've never been able to touch anyone without hurting them." She speaks slowly, shrugging his arm off her shoulder. He sits back on his own stool. "But you just touched me for long enough that my mutation should have kicked in, and it didn't. _I can touch you!_"

He blinks at her. She looks as confused as he feels.

"How?" he asks finally. She shakes her head.

"I don't know."

There is a second of uneasy silence, then she reaches out falteringly towards him.

"Can I...?"

He realizes what she wants and considers. It is true that he's touched her, several times, and he hasn't noticed anything odd happening to himself. The way she describes it, he thinks that he would probably have been in quite a lot of pain. He nods and lays his hand on the bar. She traces his fingers gently, touching him with the kind of reverence usually reserved for ancient relics or newborn babies. The excitement and awe on her face tells him that he made the right decision. Her delight fills him, and she grins, the pain of a few minutes ago forgotten for the time being.

"I can touch you!"

He smirks back at her and leans in closer.

"Congratulations, chérie."

She laughs gleefully and takes his bait. Her lips brush his briefly. Then she freezes, realizing what she's just done.

"Um..."

He doesn't give her a choice this time, pulling her in with a hand at the base of her neck. For a couple of seconds, she's stiff against him, then she relaxes and kisses him back, her hands tracing over his face and chest. Their tongues mingle, and a kind of electricity runs through his body. He wants her. He pulls away a little, breathing more heavily than the situation would require, but that's okay because she is too.

"Let's go somewhere more private," he breathes against her ear. She stills and pulls herself out of his embrace.

"Um..."

He's pushed his luck too far, and he knows it. An apology is on his lips, but she mutters an excuse and stands before he can speak it. He watches her leave, then drains the remains of his bourbon in one go. Her emotions spoke for her - she wanted him too. She'll be back; maybe not tonight, or even this week, but she will. And he'll be here waiting. She's too good to pass up.

A tall brunette catches his eye from nearby and smiles coyly at him. He winks and stands, making his way over. He has to pass the time somehow, right?


	2. Chapter 2

So, here we go with part two. Thanks to everyone who reviewed.

Disclaimer: Really? I need to do this again? I own nothing, but if anyone wants to give me Remy, I'm not going to say no...

* * *

><p>Rogue flashes her ID to the bouncer on the door of the club, thankful that the guy she hates isn't on duty. He always scrutinizes her driving license like it holds the meaning of life, then finally lets her through with a grunt, even now when she holds the reputation of being a regular. Everyone else merely nods and lets her through, not bothering to really check her ID. She's been coming at irregular intervals for almost a year now, at least five times a month, usually more often. She knows that she shouldn't, oh yes. She knows that full well. But that doesn't stop her. She's not sure she could stop now, even if she wanted to.<p>

She stalks in, and immediately feels three pairs of male eyes drinking in her appearance. She wears a light blue halter neck top that bares her arms and a wide strip of flesh around her midriff. Over that is thrown a translucent silvery long-sleeved top that shimmers in the flashing lights and gives her an ethereal appearance. White satin covers her fingers, highlighting her delicate hands, but shielding others from her skin at the same time. A blue miniskirt rides low on her hips, just about covering her ass, and sheer tights show her long legs to the best of their potential. Three inch silver heels complete the outfit. She knows she looks good; that was, after all, the idea. A man she doesn't know wolf whistles at her and asks her to dance. Unable to spot the man she seeks, she agrees, taking his hand and following him to the edge of the dance floor. He presses up against her back, his hands roaming over her stomach.

As the song ends, she takes her leave, ignoring his requests for another dance. He is not the one she's here for. She looks around again from the vantage point of the bar, and this time spots him. He's sat at a small table in the corner of the room, with three tall blondes hanging on his every word. She smirks and leans against the bar, narrowing her eyes in concentration. She learned long ago that she didn't have to be anywhere near him to attract his attention.

Sure enough, when he senses her he looks up immediately, seeking her out among the crowds. She knows the instant he sees her, because his eyes glow red. A true smile comes to his face, and he excuses himself from the blondes, picking his way over to her. By the time he arrives, the bartender has supplied her with two bourbons, and she hands one to him with a coy smile. He inclines his head in thanks and they drink. She leans forward - even in heels, she is four inches shorter than him - and whispers in his ear, her free hand tracing his torso through his shirt.

"I don't share well, Gambit, you know that."

He grins and whispers back.

"You've never tried, petite. You never know, you might like sharing moi."

She raises an eyebrow at him, amused.

"I could find another guy in here, if you're so keen to share."

He rolls his eyes. This is a discussion they've had before, and she knows his next line by heart.

"I'm the only man in mon bed, petite."

He stops the next male who passes them, gesturing at the three blondes who still sit in the corner.

"You see those trois belle femmes, homme? They like you, a lot. Go say bonjour."

The man grins and heads right over. The blondes take to him slowly, and eventually stop glancing at Gambit. He sighs and finishes his bourbon.

"That would have been a great night," he says wistfully. "You owe me the work of three filles, petite."

She laughs and purrs in his ear, fingers trailing over his abs and making him twitch. She has long practice in making him moan, and if she can hit _that_ spot just right... He grabs her hand before she can.

"Not here, ma Rogue."

She can tell from the stress in his tone that she was close. She grins and leans into him.

"Then where?"

He gives in and leans down for a kiss. She groans a little as his hands slide under her silver shirt and caress her skin, fingers tracing nonsense patterns over her skin. He grins into her mouth.

"Eager tonight, ma chère."

She wriggles her hips against him, but doesn't answer. As she left (i.e. snuck out of) the mansion earlier that evening, she had caught sight of Bobby and Kitty making out in an empty room. Her boyfriend Bobby.

That was what had started her relationship with Gambit in the first place. After the sudden resurgence of her powers, when a woman known as Ms Marvel had died, everyone had been afraid of her. The Professor, Jean Grey and Scott were gone, dead long before; Logan had taken off after Jean's death and was yet to return, and Storm had no idea how to help the terrified Rogue with her own powers, let alone her acquisition of Ms Marvel's. Even now, more than a year later, the other woman's powers hadn't faded. Rogue doubted they ever would.

Slowly, the people she lived with grew acclimatized to her again, but nobody would come within three feet of her if they could help it. Only her long-time boyfriend, Bobby, would willingly touch her, and only if she was covered head to toe in clothing. He had said that the return from a sexual relationship to a platonic one was alright with him; they would find a way around it, like they'd been trying to before she took the Cure. Then, a month after her powers returned, she had turned the wrong corner and come face to face with the truth. Bobby and Kitty - her best friend Kitty - were semi-naked and making out in an empty classroom. There was only one place they could possibly go from that position, and Rogue was not sticking around to see it. She had fled the mansion and ducked into the first club she'd seen. This club. She wanted anonymity, to be around people without anyone flinching if she so much as yawned. And here she had met Gambit.

That was a long time ago, and she's been dancing this strange, intricate tango ever since. Everyone at the mansion knows about Bobby and Kitty, and she receives sidelong glances every time she enters a room. Whispers surround the trio; one rumor states that Rogue has given Bobby permission to sleep around, because she loves him and wants him to be happy. She snorted when she first heard that one. Yeah, right. She strongly suspects Bobby started that one himself. But nobody is brave enough to ask her if she knows, if she gave permission, if she _cares_. That's the thing. She no longer gives a damn what Bobby and Kitty get up to, because Gambit is better than anything she's ever dreamed. And, really, if she's sleeping with Gambit, isn't she a hypocrite for hating what Bobby and Kitty are doing? If she's honest with herself, she's the worse one. She's the one that nobody knows is cheating. She's the one who's pitied, when in fact she's having the best time of her life with a man that no-one even knows exists.

Gambit kisses his way down her neck, breaking her train of thought. She lets him; it wasn't that nice a thought anyway. This is what she loves now; this feeling, the shudder that this simple action can send down her spine. The fact that this man is possibly the only person alive who can touch her without being absorbed. They finally worked out why a few weeks previously; Gambit generates kinetic energy as part of his mutation. This creates a static shield around him, and as well as making it impossible for psychics to read his mind, it negates her powers. They are literally made for each other.

She pulls him back up and pushes him against the bar, kissing him deeply.

"I want you," she growls into his ear, making him laugh in a quiet rumble. Her fingers dig into his shoulders and she nips at his lower lip. He kisses her harder, almost bruising in his intensity. He pulls away when they both gasp for breath, and leans his head against hers.

"Where to, ma Rogue?"

She loves when he calls her that. _My Rogue_. If he's being possessive, then he must want her. Nobody else wants her, even if Bobby professes to. She is Gambit's, body and soul, because he is the only one who can make her feel any more. She knows better than to think that he's hers, however many girls he may turn away for her. She's just a good lay, more meaningful that a one night stand because she knows a little about him. She doesn't care. She needs him and the sensations he gives her, because it is the only way she can feel anything. It is the only time she cares.

She kisses the end of his nose and whispers the name of a little local hotel. It's clean, cheap, and close. He nods, downs the rest of her bourbon when she offers it to him, and together they head for the exit. She rests her head against his chest as they leave, grinning at the wink the bouncer shoots her. She will allow herself to revel in everything, because in a few short hours she will be back in the mansion, back to pretending to live until she can sneak out to him again. Back to feigning interest in the classes she teaches, and the danger room sessions. Back to the numbness that envelopes her whole being.

She entwines her fingers with Gambit's as he checks them into a room at the hotel.

She misses feeling.


	3. Chapter 3

Ok, I know this was meant to be a two-shot, but a few people asked for more, and a review by **annacat721** prompted me to write this update. It's Gambit's pov again, and may well be followed by another from Rogue, depending on how the plotbunnies react to your reviews ;)

On a side-note; I have recently come into possession of a plotbunny tattoo on my thigh, and am looking for a name so that I don't sound insane by referring to my leg as a source of inspiration. I have decided, for no real reason, that it is male, so any suggestions? The design is the same as my avatar.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I wish I did, because hey, then I'd be rich, but unfortunately my bank account is not on speaking terms with me right now.

* * *

><p>Gambit is not having a good day.<p>

First, he got shot at. Then, half a building collapsed on top of him, and the only reason he escaped with his life was because he'd made an even bigger explosion than the TNT that had caused the collapse in the first place, effectively outing him as a mutant to everyone in a three mile radius. So, escaping with his stolen prize was decidedly more difficult than the 'cakewalk' he originally declared it to be. He missed the drop for the client, and as a result has not been paid. And now he is once again being carded to enter a club when he is goddamned thirty-eight years old! Only that one bouncer... Gambit grits his teeth and stalks to the bar, downing his first bourbon before even handing over the money for it. He asks for and receives another, and this time manages to pay and get his change before lifting the glass to his lips.

Only one thing can now make this day worth getting out of bed, and that is getting back into bed. With a woman. Preferably a woman with hourglass curves, two-toned hair that cascades down her back like a waterfall, and emerald eyes so deep he can drown in them if he tries. He frowns and tries to think when he became so picky. He never used to be; female and breathing about covered it. Then he met Rogue, and suddenly he finds he has a type. He scowls and takes a larger-than-advisable chug of his bourbon. A very specific type, apparently.

Not that his sudden interest in green-eyed, auburn-haired beauties stops him from pursuing other women at all. It just makes them less interesting. They capture his attention for less time now than they did before; a feat which, according to his brother, should not be possible. The phrase 'disposable tissues' has been used more than once, which Gambit deems highly unfair. He is a connoisseur of women, a ladies' man. He treats them with respect. He is neither a womaniser nor a 'man-whore', both of which his sister-in-law has accused him of. He has not told her of his repeated interactions with Rogue. He doesn't want to know what she'll make of it.

Speaking of Rogue (has there been another topic in his thoughts since entering the bar?), he lifts his head and casts a look around at the clientele. There are plenty of brunettes in, but none with hair the exact shade that denotes the woman who has managed to hold his interest for a little over a year. There are plenty of women with streaks in their hair also, but while he picks out many blonde highlights, he sees no distinctive flash of white. Suppressing a sigh, he drains the remains of his bourbon and gets a refill. He has been in the club for ten minutes and he's already three glasses in. He didn't come here tonight looking to get drunk, but it looks like he's going to end up that way.

A slim woman with long brown hair slides up to him and introduces herself as Kathy. He smiles at her and nods his head, giving his codename in reply. She blinks at the unusual introduction, but then her smirk returns and she slides a hand up his arm slowly.

"Mysterious man. I like it."

He grins and begins to flirt with her, but then her probing fingers scratch a wound on his bicep – he didn't quite get out of the rubble unscathed earlier – and he winces and pulls back from her rough handling. Rogue has been spoiling him; even at her most eager, she touches him with a degree of reverence that he has only ever used with stolen items of indescribable value. Like that one time he stole a Picasso. He's pretty sure he stroked the masterpiece like that, gently allowing his fingertips to caress the paint in a kind of silent awe. This woman – already, he's forgotten her name – has none of his Rogue's tenderness, nor her passion. Though if Rogue ever decides she wants to play a little rougher with him, he won't say no.

It is when he calls her 'his Rogue' in his own head that he knows he can have no other tonight.

He has called her that before, but only ever to her face; it gets such a delicious response from her. She has never referred to him as belonging to her, and he has never wanted it, but now he thinks perhaps she should, just this once. After all, if he's not even going to flirt successfully with any other woman tonight then he is hers, at least for the evening.

The brunette on his arm squeezes his bicep to regain his attention, once again aggravating his wound and causing him to jerk his arm from her hold. She takes a step back, affronted, and mumbles something about crazy drunk people before wandering off into the crowd. He scowls at her back, rubs his arm (he hopes she hasn't opened the cut up again; he doesn't want to get blood on a second shirt today) and moves away from the bar to a more secluded section of the room where he can see the entrance and most of the dance floor. He cannot see Rogue yet, but he knows she will be here. She said so the last time they saw one another. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration of a job well done for him, but he will take it as a consolation for a day gone horribly wrong, so long as he still gets to have her.

He is three-quarters of the way through his third bourbon when he finally senses her arrival. She is at the opposite end of the dance floor to him – he must have missed her entrance, perhaps she came in behind a group of others – and smirking in a way that tells him she loves the connection they have. Gambit is unsure why it exists – he likes to blame it on his empathy and ignores the fact that it was never specific enough to pick out individual people before – but he is well aware of the fact that all she has to do is be near him and he can feel her presence, can even pinpoint her location. If she picks up on him like this also, she is yet to show it. He brushes his hyper-awareness of her to the back of his mind as he makes his way around the dance floor towards her.

She grins at him as he approaches. He cannot help but return with a smile of his own.

"Bonsoir, ma Rogue," he says smoothly, taking her hand in his empty one and brushing a kiss across her gloved knuckles. She chuckles and steps closer, brushing her body against his as he stands upright again.

"Bonsoir, Gambit," she purrs in his ear, mocking his accent. He smirks into her hair.

"You're getting better with the French, petite," he says approvingly, allowing his free hand to wander over her form. He begins at her waist, tracing small patterns under the hem of her shirt with his thumb before abandoning the skin contact for the moment and skimming his fingertips up her spine to tangle in the ends of her hair. His lips meet hers, and his hands form fists around her curls and his glass as he tries to pull her closer. Her hands are busy also, moving over – and under – his shirt and stroking the muscles of his chest and abs with just enough pressure to make it pleasurable. Her fingernails scrape one particular part of his stomach, and he gasps into her mouth, unable to prevent the reaction. She takes advantage of his lapse in control to force her tongue into his mouth, tasting the back of his teeth. He recovers quickly and wrestles her tongue with his own, searching blindly for a surface to put the glass down on. She has one more hand available than him, and is making good use of it.

Just as he finds a conveniently-placed table to shove the remains of his bourbon onto, she stops her attentions and pulls away. He restrains the whimper that tries to emerge at the loss of her touch – he will not behave like a puppy seeking attention from its master – and blinks at her concerned look.

"Rogue-chère? What's wrong?"

She holds up her right hand in answer to reveal the crimson staining the tips of her fingers. For a second, he thinks that somehow she has hurt herself, but then realizes that it is his blood. He is not sure which of the many cuts about his person has reopened – he didn't feel her brushing any of them.

"Oh," is his eloquent reply, as he focuses on his own body for a moment. Nope, he still can't feel where the blood may be coming from. He shrugs, figuring it can't be that important if he hasn't noticed, and returns his attention to her form. She shrugs off his hands as they try to wrap about her waist and wriggles her fingers to emphasize the bloody ends.

"This needs looking at, Gambit."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm fine chérie, très bon. Nothing wrong with Gambit. Now get back here."

"No," she says stubbornly, stepping back from him, then moving closer again to be heard over the thumping bass of the music. "Your back is bleeding! That's not a good thing, sugar. Let me have a look."

"Rogue..."

But she is already moving around to his back and tugging at the base of his shirt. He spins around and grabs her wrists. "Non, ma chérie, not here." The last thing he needs is the whole of the club seeing his bruised and bloody form. That would draw far more attention than he wants. However, if he is reading the look on Rogue's face correctly, then she will not be dissuaded. He sighs and shakes his head. The least he can manage is making sure that she is the only one who sees the damage. He can count on her to be discreet.

He takes her hand and leads her towards the exit. She looks a little startled, but allows him to drag her outside and into a deserted side road nearby. He sighs again as he releases her wrist and reaches for the hem of his shirt.

"Be quiet, ma petite, comprenez?"

She nods, so he carefully pulls his shirt over his head and turns so she can see his back. At her gasp, he holds his shirt up to the light and inspects the stain on it. Not too large, but larger than he likes. It is noticeable, which he is not happy about. Visible bloodstains tend to lead to questions that he's not comfortable answering. He grits his teeth, waiting for Rogue to start asking those same questions, and wondering just how many candy-coated lies it's going to take for her to drop it.

"Do you have a place nearby?"

He blinks and looks over his shoulder at her. That is not what he expected. "Quoi?"

She looks up from his damaged back and meets his gaze. "An apartment or something. Someplace with medical supplies. This needs seeing to, sugar."

He blinks at her again and nods, dumbfounded. He can read her emotions, both in her eyes and via his empathy, and there is no judgement; she is not wary of him. Her eyes show that she is worried, but it is the calm sort of worried; she is offering help, not demanding answers. This is not how he envisioned this conversation going at all.

"Oui, a few blocks from here," he says when he finds his voice. She nods and takes the shirt from him, pulling it carefully back over his head and covering the crimson mark on the back by slinging her arm around his waist, tucking herself underneath his arm. It looks like they're cuddling, but he is sure that, should he require to lean on her, she could take his weight quite easily in this position. He stares at her openly. She's done this before.

"Lead the way," she instructs. He eyes her carefully, then moves so his arm is hugging her rather than draped over her shoulders and leads the way out of the alley. He badly wants to question her – why isn't she reacting like a normal person and demanding he goes to hospital, or asking what happened and how? – but as she has not asked him any invasive questions, he will extend the same courtesy to her.

The walk back to his rented apartment takes longer than normal because of the way they're walking, but her grip on his side is firm and he doesn't want to dislodge her hand anyway. He hesitates briefly at the base of the stairs – he is yet to tell anyone of his address, and has certainly never allowed anybody entrance to the apartment. He is a Thief in exile, after all. Advertising his presence in a certain place is dangerous. Actually, so is staying in one place for an extended amount of time, but he has his reasons. One of them is currently standing with his arm around her shoulders, looking up at him to see why they've stopped moving. If she can be reason enough for him to break one rule, then why not another? He smiles at her reassuringly and pulls a key from his pocket, letting them into the building.

Six flights of stairs later, Gambit shuts his front door behind them and groans slightly as she removes her arm – his shirt has stuck to both her top and his skin, and makes an unpleasant sucking sound as the motion tears it away from his back. Rogue shoots him an apologetic look and instructs him to take a seat on the small sofa in the living room they're standing in.

"Where's the bathroom? I need bandages as well."

"The first aid kit's in the bathroom under the sink. First door on the left," he says, indicating a hallway on the other side of the room. She nods and strides off in search of medical aid, leaving Gambit standing alone in his living room. He smiles a little, amused at the scenario, then does as Rogue asked him and takes a seat on the sofa. He pulls the bloody shirt over his head, wincing at the strain on his wounds, and tosses it carelessly in the direction of the corner. It blows up with a magenta flourish and a soft pop just as Rogue re-enters the room, her arms full of wet cloth and the first aid kit. She jumps a little, then smiles at the nonchalant shrug he sends her in reply. She has seen him blow things up before, usually her underwear when he's feeling particularly impatient. She is used to the light show that accompanies his powers.

She sits behind him on the sofa and dabs at his wounds with the cloth. It is cold, and feels good against the heat of his skin. She mumbles as she works, verbalising her thought process and telling him what she's doing as she goes along. He is glad to learn that the weeping cut isn't deep enough to require stitches, and allows her to bandage it neatly. She then assesses the rest of his wounds, including the one on his bicep, and makes a few adjustments to the precautions he took earlier before declaring "you'll do," and putting away the remains of the first aid kit. By this point he is grinning at her. She looks at him with her eyebrows raised.

"What?"

He chuckles and shakes his head, turning so they're side-by-side instead of having his back to her. "'You'll do'?"

She blushes and shrugs. "I deal with a lot of little kids. And some not-so-little-kids too. You get used to doing it a certain way."

"And to doing it gloved?" he enquires, indicating the white satin gloves which she still wears. They are mostly red now, having had contact with his bloody back. She shrugs.

"It's necessary," she says, not meeting his eyes. He feels the emotional pain that comes with that precaution, and takes her hands in his, pulling the ruined satin from her hands and tossing it carelessly over his shoulder.

"Thank you, ma Rogue." He kisses her bare knuckles, eyes rolled up to catch the expression on her face. She smiles at him as he retreats and shrugs one shoulder, but makes no move to extricate her fingers from his.

"No problem."

He moves his lips up her arm, kissing his way over her elbow to her shoulder and along her collarbone. Her eyes close and her head falls back as she lets him do as he will. He grins and drags his tongue up her throat. She trusts him completely with her body (with good reason – he can play it like a fiddle to get the notes he wants), and it suddenly occurs to him that he trusts her with more. He trusts her with his identity, with his safety even, or he wouldn't have brought her back to his apartment. He certainly wouldn't have let her walk into the back rooms unsupervised. He takes her earlobe between his teeth and tugs gently, making her groan and tighten her grip on his hand. Perhaps she has earned the right to ask questions.

He moves along her chin and hovers over her lips. She opens her eyes when he makes no move to close the gap and blinks at his proximity.

"Gambit? Is everything ok?"

He nods and leans away from her, his mind made up. Quite why he has come to the decision to trust her with so much, he doesn't know, but he has always been a big believer in instinct, and his is telling him that she deserves to know who he is. The thought that he wants her to know passes fleetingly through his mind, but he dismisses it. He isn't one to care for people's opinions of him.

"I have to say, chérie, I'm impressed with your indifference. I'd have thought you'd be asking a lot of questions by now."

She blinks at his sudden desire to talk, and shrugs.

"I did wonder why you thought it was a good idea to go to a club with your back in that state, but the rest of it's none of my business."

He tilts his head to one side, trying to detect a hint of a lie in that statement. He finds none. Does she honestly think she is worth so little? Apparently, yes. Something in him doesn't like that. He puts both her hands in one of his and tangles the fingers of his free hand in the hair at her temple, wrapping white strands around the digits. His thumb brushes her cheek and he uses this as a handle to ensure she meets his gaze squarely.

"I went to the club to meet you, petite. I promised I'd meet you there tonight, and Gambit never goes back on his word."

He decides to ignore the fact that he lies for a living. He has never yet stood up a belle femme, and he doesn't intend to start with Rogue. Especially not with Rogue.

She smiles at him like one would at a child who's just declared the sky to be green, and shakes her head.

"I'm not worth tearing your back apart, sugar. You should really be resting. In fact, I should probably go; let you get some sleep."

She moves to stand, but he tugs her back down, growling out a denial before he has consciously processed her sentence. She looks at him with wide eyes, shocked at his vehement refusal, so he kisses her again. She pulls away before he can really get into it, looking concerned.

"Gambit?"

"Remy," he corrects without thinking. Then he realises what he has said, and freezes. He hasn't given a woman his real name in over a year; since he began renting the apartment (under an assumed name; he isn't suicidal) he's been slightly paranoid about his identity becoming public knowledge. Telling Rogue his name has just blown that cover to bits. He swallows and meets her gaze. "Je m'appel Remy LeBeau."

She looks at him carefully. "Remy. You're scaring me right now."

He suddenly thinks how this must look to her, and releases her hands and hair. "Désolé, ma chérie. I didn't mean to frighten you."

She nods and stands, straightening her shirt and looking around, presumably for her gloves. "It's ok. I should just leave."

He reaches out and takes her hand, slow enough that she can see what he is doing. He doesn't want to grab her and scare her again. "Mais, I want you to stay."

It is the most candid he has been with a woman in a long time, and his gravity must show in his eyes, because she stops moving and looks him up and down. Her emotions are a whirl of confusion; she honestly doesn't believe that he wants her. Not in the way he's declaring anyhow. Is she truly that unused to someone caring for her?

"Sit down, petite," he asks, and after a few seconds hesitation she does so, leaving a larger gap than normal between them. He sighs and tries to think how to make her more comfortable. Usually by this point in their meetings, they are both naked and not in the mood for talking. He isn't used to being so serious with her.

"Where did you learn first aid?" he eventually asks. Perhaps talking about herself will relax her more? Talking about him only seems to confuse her.

She takes a deep breath and shrugs. "Part of the job description."

He raises an eyebrow at her. She is trying to be dismissive, so he will turn it into a guessing game. He surprises himself by actually being genuinely interested in her replies.

"Job description? So, you're a nurse?"

The corners of her lips twitch upwards at that, barely perceptible, but he knows he saw it.

"A nurse with deadly skin? Yeah, that'd go down well."

Gambit makes a dismissive noise at her assessment of nursing and guesses again. She mentioned little kids...

"A teacher?"

It's a bit of a reach, but he supposes teachers would be required to know first aid. She blushes a little under his scrutiny.

"Why does it matter?"

Her lack of denial tells him that he is correct, but something isn't right. He only has half the story.

"Because, ma chérie, I want to know."

She squirms slightly under his gaze, then sighs.

"Yeah, I'm a teacher. I work at Xavier's."

His eyes widen at that. Most mutants in New York know that Xavier's is a school for their kind, but he is one of the few that knows it is also the home of the X-Men. Suddenly, her actions for the entire evening are perfectly clear, up to and including her 'none of my business' statement. She's probably seen so many similar injuries that she's given up asking what caused them.

"Gam... Remy?" she asks, concerned by his reaction. He snaps out of it and smiles at her.

"Xavier's huh? You're braver than I knew, chérie."

She blinks at him, confused. "I know you hear a lot of bad stuff in the media about teenagers, but the kids aren't that bad. I can handle them."

He laughs at that. "Non, ma Rogue, I didn't mean that, though now you mention it I have even more respect for your patience. Non, I meant the X-Men."

She freezes at that, and her eyes go very wide. "You know about the X-Men?"

"Oui," he grins, relaxing into the sofa, happy that talking to her is easier than he thought it would be. "I got an invite to join once. Turned it down. They'd have wanted moi to give up thieving, and I'm not gonna do that. Been in the habit too long; I don't think I could break it."

Gambit didn't know one person's eyes could go so wide. He has to chuckle at the shock on her face.

"You... you're a thief?" she asks, once she finds her voice. He nods. She already has his name; if she tries she could find out all about him, especially given the technology at the Xavier mansion and his history with the place. He doesn't see the harm in telling her.

"Born and raised. That's how my back got carved up. A job went wrong earlier; I had to blow up half an apartment block to escape. Don't worry," he adds, seeing the look of horror on her face, "it was condemned. Nobody in it but moi."

She shakes her head. "You could have gotten seriously hurt."

Her concern for him gives him a warm feeling in his chest, which he quickly brushes off as an effect of the alcohol in his system. He shrugs nonchalantly and leans closer to her on the seat, deciding that he's had enough of talking for the moment.

"I'm fine, chérie. A little scratched up, but tell me you haven't had worse working with the X-Men?"

She has no reply to that, as he knew she wouldn't. He takes advantage of her silence to close the gap between them, kissing her shoulder through the black silk of her shirt and nuzzling her throat.

"Now, ma Rogue, this shirt would look much better on the floor."

She smiles at his god-awful line – the only reason he said it – and gently kneads his stomach with her fingertips. She just brushes the sensitive spot, and he puts more effort into his kisses, hoping to encourage her. He can feel her chuckle reverberate through her chest.

"Well, I suppose it is unfair if only one of us is topless," she acquiesces teasingly. He makes an approving sound without removing his mouth from her neck, and she laughs outright and pushes him away to remove her shirt. She does it much slower than normal, teasing him with the drape of the silk until he takes it from her himself and throws it over his shoulder to join her gloves on the floor. She laughs again, the most carefree she's sounded all night, and he grins and runs his fingertips along the straps of her bra.

"Still not topless, ma chère," he points out, slipping his questing fingers under the clasp at the back. She tuts and removes his hands, leaning forward so he has no choice but to lie back on the sofa. The angle pulls a little at his bandages, but he doesn't care.

"All good things to those who wait," she murmurs. She pins his wrists against the armrest and straddles him. He groans a little as she settles on his stomach, and she apologises and releases his hands, shifting her weight. He is confused for a moment, then remembers his wounds.

"Non, chérie, you get back here," he demands, pouting for good measure. She returns slowly, measuring his response to ensure she doesn't aggravate his back. He grins at her. "Looks like you're gonna have to do all the work tonight, ma Rogue. Don't want me to strain anything, do we?"

They both laugh at that. Rogue nods agreeably, leaning down to whisper in his ear. Her lace-covered breasts brush against his chest with every slight movement.

"I'll expect you to repay the favour later."

He knows his eyes glow red at that, and the grin that crosses his face is nothing short of ecstatic.

"I look forward to it," he assures her, telling the complete truth. She giggles and kisses him.

This more than makes up for the lousy day he's had so far. In fact, if this is the treatment he gets when he's wounded, he may have to botch jobs more often. He reconsiders that quickly, deciding that picking fights with bikers is probably a safer way to go. Then he wonders when he became a masochist. Probably around the same time Rogue decided to play nurse for him. He chuckles low in his throat.

Oh, he is so going to get her a nurse outfit.


	4. Chapter 4

So, everyone who was alerting this has been proved right; I couldn't leave it alone. I also discovered a plot *gasp* I hope you all enjoy it :)  
>On a side note, I think this is the closest to an M rating I've ever written.<p>

Disclaimer: If I owned it, I would be living in my own place, thus would not have had all the landlord-related problems I've been having recently. For all those of you with working showers; I envy you.

* * *

><p>Rogue licks her lips. She is lying on Remy's bed, with the man himself leaning over her. Well, lying is a nice term for it. Her wrists are tied to the head of the bed, Remy is positioned between her knees, and his hands are doing all sorts of pleasurable things to her sides and stomach. She groans and tries to pull him closer with her feet, but he laughs and frees himself from the cage of her legs, walking from the room with a wicked grin. When he hasn't returned after almost a full minute, she begins to pull at the bindings. They snap easily, and she sits up and slides to the edge of the bed, wondering where he's got to. It's not like him to abandon their time together.<p>

She is about to stand when he reappears in the doorway, one hand holding a small silver bowl. She can smell the contents from where she sits; melted chocolate. She grins at him, but his only reaction is a raised eyebrow.

"You broke the ties, ma chère?"

She shrugs.

"You disappeared. I thought maybe you'd left me."

He shakes his head and stalks towards her. The look in his eyes makes her giggle as she scoots back to the centre of the bed. He crawls on top of her again.

"Never gonna leave you, chérie," he croons, dripping the warm chocolate onto her stomach and dipping his head to lick it off. His tongue dances into her bellybutton, making her squirm beneath him.

"Remy..." she moans, almost upending the bowl as she grabs for him, trying to pull him up so she can kiss him. He tuts and carefully places the bowl on the floor before grabbing her wrists and hauling them back over her head. He salvages the remains of the ties, wrapping them back around her hands.

"Bad girl," he scolds, with a look of absolute glee in his eyes. She lets him tie her up, trying not to giggle like a schoolgirl at the excitement on his face. He retrieves the chocolate and dribbles a fine line of the sugary treat along her collarbone and down her chest, tongue lapping at her skin before he's even finished. She squirms again.

"Are you going to punish me?" she manages to gasp out. He halts his attentions to her throat and looks up, his eyes glowing crimson.

"Oh, oui," he promises, leaning down for a kiss. He tastes of chocolate. She moans against his mouth. He trails his lips across her cheek to her ear, nipping at the lobe lightly until she moans again, then bringing his head up to whisper.

A shrill buzz meets her sensitive ears.

She sits bolt upright, instantly transported from Gambit's room to her own. She's at the Xavier mansion, clothed and alone, and rather wishing that she was back in her dream with Gambit. Her alarm clock flashes the time at her in neon green figures; 3am. Why is she awake?

Oh yeah, the border alarm.

As soon as she places the glaring whine, she shoots out of bed and to her balcony, flying to conserve time. As she is a teacher now, she has a room to herself, which she blesses because anybody in the room with her would be getting quite the show right now; she is clad only in a short satin nightgown, and the breezes from the open balcony doors and her own flight are making the material do interesting things. She spares the time to grab a pair of shorts before flying outside to investigate the grounds.

In the event of an attack on the mansion, there is a specific protocol to follow. With far too few staff available to ensure the safety of the students and also mount a response against any intruders, heavy emphasis has been placed on the former. Jubilee, Kitty, Bobby and Piotr are all tasked with finding and evacuating the students while Storm creates a windy, icy distraction to ensure they get away. Until sixteen months ago, Rogue was also on 'evacuate the students' duty, but since her acquisition and apparent control of Ms Marvel's powers, she has been moved to defence. With the abilities of flight, super-strength, invulnerability and an innate sense of approaching danger under her belt, there is little that can stand in her way if she chooses to remove it.

Her 'sixth sense' as some of the kids call it, is highly attuned. Being nearly killed a dozen times before your twentieth birthday will do that to you. So, it surprises her when she rounds the front of the mansion to where the alarm was triggered and it doesn't start screaming at her to duck and run for cover. The flashing lights of the perimeter breach tell her where the intruders are, but not how many there are or what kind of weaponry they carry. She may be invulnerable, but a bullet to the chest still hurts, even if it doesn't bleed. She approaches warily.

There is a single figure standing directly beneath the bright white light of the perimeter alarm. It takes her a few seconds, but Rogue recognises the intruder and freezes in midair with shock. He stands with his hands fisted huffily, casting the blaring alarm a look that suggests he wants to carve it up into tiny little pieces. And, with the claws protruding from his knuckles, he may well do it.

Rogue lets out a low squeal and dives for him. He spots her just in time to open his arms, and she flies into his hold with a laugh, steadying them to prevent the sudden impact from landing them both on the ground in a heap. After a second of shocked inactivity, he hugs her back, burying his nose in her hair and inhaling deeply. She pulls away when she hears his bones make protesting metallic creaks. She is squeezing too hard.

"Logan!" she shrieks, finally putting her feet on the ground. He grins at her, but she can see annoyance in the lines on his brow.

"Hey Kid. I see a lot's changed since I left."

He looks her up and down. She shrugs and lowers her head, suddenly self-conscious.

"Yeah. Long story."

He winces again as the alarm increases in pitch and raises a hand to his ears.

"Either you turn that thing off, or I will," he growls. Rogue smiles and flies up to the alarm box located on top of the fence, disengaging it with a practiced hand. The cold wind that is just beginning to pick up falters and dies off. Storm will be out here soon to investigate why Rogue has halted the alarm. Her time alone with Logan has been cut to mere seconds. She decides it best to spend that time with her feet on the ground and her arms around her friend. When Storm comes out and sees her with so much skin showing, the failure of her Cure will be exposed and he will avoid touching her like all the others. She wants to be held while she can.

Sure enough, just over a minute later when Storm finds them, Logan's face falls as Rogue is forced to let go.

It is the next night before she and Logan have a chance to speak alone. After calling off the evacuation and resetting the alarms, Storm spends hours alone with Logan in her office. By the time he emerges, Rogue is teaching her even-sleepier-than-usual class. She skips dinner, as is her usual routine, and instead spends the time dressing for a night out. She and Gambit are meeting tonight. Even Logan's arrival back at the mansion cannot make her miss her night out with a man who actually seems to care about her.

It might be able to delay her though.

She locks her bedroom door from the inside (not that it will keep many people out, but it sends the appropriate message, and nowadays nobody is brave enough to force entry to her room) and steps out onto the balcony, shutting the doors behind her carefully and accessing her power of flight. She almost falls out of the air in shock when a gruff voice calls up from beneath her.

"Where you sneaking out to, Stripes?"

She lowers herself to the ground floor carefully, wary of attracting anybody else's attention. Logan is leaning against the wall casually, taking a drag from the cigar between his teeth. She tries to affect an innocent air, but doesn't think she manages too well. Logan is still watching her with that look in his eye. That dog-with-a-big-bone look. He isn't letting go until he gets answers. She sighs.

"I can't stay here 24/7, Logan. I've gotta get out now and then. I've gotta feel like a normal person, just for a while."

Logan eyes her carefully before throwing the remains of his cigar to the ground and stubbing it out with his boot.

"You're not normal, Kid. None of us are. The people who understand that best are in here," he says, jabbing his thumb at the wall. Rogue snorts.

"Yeah, right. If you believed that, you wouldn't have left for over a year."

He smirks at her and nods.

"If 'Ro asks, I tried to talk you round."

Rogue sighs and leans against the wall herself.

"You got the whole 'since her powers came back she's been closed off and we can't talk to her' speech, huh?" Rogue has overheard that particular conversation many times between various members of staff. It's done nothing to improve her mood.

Logan nods slowly, a serious look coming over his face. Rogue straightens almost subconsciously. Nothing good ever comes of that look.

"What's up with you, Kid? What's changed? Before I left, if you knew the Icicle was cheating on you, you'd have kicked his ass from here to Mexico. And don't try to tell me you don't know; I'm not stupid and neither are you."

She sighs. So finally somebody not only plucks up the nerve to talk to her about it, but assumes that she's smart enough to have noticed. Of course, that person would have to be Logan.

"Bobby can do what and who he likes. He doesn't care about me; why should I give a rat's ass about him?"

Logan is silent for a moment. When he speaks, it is with a measured calm that bodes ill for whoever has pissed him off. Rogue can't help the shiver of fear that passes over her at that tone.

"Want me to shish-kabob him?" he offers, extending his claws for emphasis. Rogue chuckles and shakes her head.

"Nah. I can take care of it myself."

He sheathes his claws and eyes her carefully.

"Then do," he says, a note of finality in his voice. "If you don't want Bobby anymore then for God's sake toss him. I don't know what game you're playing, but I don't like it. You're an adult now, Marie; act like one."

She flinches back at his words and lifts her feet from the ground, hovering with their faces level. He's a fine one to talk – she wasn't the one who ran away for over a year.

"You're not my father, Logan," she growls, more hurt at his assessment of her behaviour than she cares to show. It figures; the first time she cares about anything in this damned mansion it turns around and bites her. She should just start to be suspicious of any good thing that happens to her, because God knows it'll turn bad eventually. Logan is meant to be on her side. "Don't try to tell me what to do. Now, if you don't mind, I have other places to be."

She takes off into the air, not caring who sees her leave. She just wants to get away as far as she can.

Normally, she would fly to the outskirts of the city, touchdown somewhere unobtrusive where a flying woman won't be noticed, and then walk casually into the nightlife of the club to find Gambit. Five minutes flying, ten walking, and nobody gets called 'mutie' and starts a fight. Tonight she bypasses that safety measure and flies right over the city centre, headed for Gambit's apartment block. They were supposed to be meeting at a bar not too far from his place – paying to get into the club only to walk out again a few minutes later finally occurred to both of them to be ridiculous – so they could get a drink before he led them back to his, but she is several minutes early thanks to her failure to obey gravity and not in the mood for crowds anyway. She hesitates above his building. Landing at the front door is likely to get her lynched and she doesn't have a key, so she would have to wait for Remy to find her and let her in. The roof poses the same entry problem – forcing her way in may be appealing, but will do no good for either herself or Gambit if she is caught using her powers to break in. Perhaps his window?

She carefully lowers herself to the right level and peers into the nearest window. The walls beyond are pink – not Remy's place. She moves to the other side of the building. Her second guess is the right one – she can see him in his living room, adjusting his shirt as he reaches for his keys. She's caught him just as he's about to leave. She taps on the glass, startling him. He spins around to face the window, cards sparking magenta in his hands, then relaxes when he sees it's her and de-charges the playing cards, shoving them back in his pocket and making his way over. He opens the window for her, and she slides in.

"Well, this is an unorthodox way to start a date," he jokes, closing the window again and turning to face her. "Not that I'm complaining. A très belle femme comes knocking on my window; who am I to turn her down, hein?"

Rogue nods distractedly. His jovial tone fades into confusion as he reaches out to touch her shoulder.

"Why _are_ you using the window? What happened?"

His concern on top of everything else is too much. She lifts a hand to her face and begins to sob. Immediately, his arms wrap around her and he pulls her against his chest, mumbling nonsense to her in French. She catches the phrase 'ma chérie' a few times, but she doesn't speak the language very well so most of what he says goes over her head. She doesn't care if she doesn't understand; his soothing tone and his hands rubbing her back calm her quickly. She sniffs a few times and wipes away the last of her tears. Gambit holds her close for a few seconds longer before leading her to the sofa and sitting her down. His shirt is damp where she has cried against his shoulder, but he doesn't seem to notice. He sits beside her, his hands holding hers and his concerned eyes boring into her own.

"What happened, Rogue?"

She sniffs again and shakes her head, letting out a small laugh that only serves to show how shaky she's still feeling. "Nothing."

He shakes his head firmly and increases his grip on her fingers. "Non, that wasn't nothing. A fille as étonnant as you should never cry like that. Tell moi, Rogue. S'il te plait."

He smoothes her hair with one hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips with the other and brushing whisper-light kisses across them. "Tell me."

She takes a shaky breath. She did just turn up at his home and burst into tears on his shoulder. That may warrant an explanation. She nods then bites her lip, wondering just what to tell him. Why _did_ she cry? Because he was kind to her? Because Logan wasn't? Because Bobby still has a say in her life, and it's all her own fault? She closes her eyes and exhales slowly, regaining control of her breathing. The sofa beside her creaks and moves as Gambit gets up and walks away, returning a few minutes later with two steaming mugs of coffee. One of them is black, the other almost white with the amount of cream he's added. He offers her the pale one. She smiles and takes it from him, inhaling and sipping at it slowly. It's loaded with sugar, almost too sweet. He sits beside her and places his own mug on the floor by his heel.

"Ma Tante always said 'sweets for shock'. There's five spoons of sugar in that," he explains, nodding at the mug. She laughs a little, no doubt what he was going for, and takes another sip. She does feel better, though whether that's because of the coffee or the company is debatable.

He lets her drink in peace for several minutes before he questions her again.

"So, ma chère, what happened to make you cry like that? Who am I beating up, hmm?"

His attempt at a joke makes her smile weakly and wrap her hands more securely around her mug.

"Well, if you want the source of the problem, then me."

He pauses, then moves his hand to her knee and squeezes gently. He doesn't say anything, for which she is grateful, but she can see the disagreement written all over his face. She ignores it for now and takes another sip of her coffee.

"I have a boyfriend. Bobby."

At that, his grip on her knee becomes tight enough that she thinks it would be probably be painful for anybody else, and he sits up a little straighter.

"Boyfriend?"

She smiles self-consciously and nods, turning her eyes to her cup.

"Yeah. With my powers I was surprised too, but he asked me out even before I took the Cure. Pity date I guess."

Gambit shakes his head and his eyes flash red, but Rogue barely notices. The swirling surface of her coffee is all she is willing to look at right now.

"After the Cure wore off, I wanted to break up, but he said it'd be ok; that we could find a way around my powers. Then I found out he was cheating on me with my best friend."

Gambit removes his hand from her leg abruptly and curls his fingers into fists a few times. The tiny sparkles of magenta tell her that he is charging the air particles. She opens her mouth to ask if he is alright, but he speaks before she can.

"And you stayed with him after that?" he asks, disbelief colouring his voice. Rogue smiles thinly and waves a hand in the air between them.

"I haven't exactly been faithful either," she notes. Remy takes a couple of breaths and calms down, though his eyes still glow slightly.

"Who cheated first?" he asks, voice soft, as though he doesn't really want to ask. Rogue snorts and turns her gaze back to the liquid in her mug.

"The day I found out was the day I met you. It's why I was in the club in the first place. I saw them together and I ran; I just wanted to get someplace where nobody knew me."

He puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes, running his bare fingers up and down the side of her neck. She closes her eyes and focuses on the sensation.

"Someplace people didn't flinch away from me every time I took a breath."

He leans in closer and wraps her hair around his fingers, massaging her scalp with little circular motions. She lets out a little groan.

"Someplace people weren't afraid of me," she concludes, almost whispering the confession. His lips graze hers as he speaks, his voice even quieter than hers.

"I'm not afraid of you."

She kisses him. He pulls her closer and runs the hand that's not tangled in her hair up and down her spine, making sure to brush her skin with each pass. She moans against his lips and he pulls away before she can get too carried away.

"Bobby is un fou," he decides, making her chuckle and shake her head. She understands that one.

"Nah, I'm the idiot. I should have broken up with him as soon as I found out. Instead, I pretended I didn't know, because if I acknowledged it, then I'd be alone again. Even the lie was better than that."

Gambit scowls at her, but she continues before he can speak.

"Now, I don't know. I guess I kinda want him to own up to it, you know? Everyone at Xavier's knows about him and Kitty, but nobody's brave enough to say anything to me. They all whisper about it though. And then Logan..."

Gambit frowns and leans back. "Logan?"

She nods and sighs. She suspects this is why she started crying in the first place. She was coping just fine until he came back and made her feel guilty.

"He's my friend. He's been... away for a while; just over a year actually. He came back last night. Tripped one of the perimeter alarms and scared the whole mansion half to death. Storm told him about it all I guess, 'cus unless they're suicidal, Bobby and Kitty won't do anything while he's within smelling distance."

Gambit looks blankly at her. She smiles and elaborates.

"Part of his mutation; he has enhanced senses. Anyway, he cornered me as I was on my way here. Asked me about Bobby and why I've changed and something about not liking the game I'm playing. 'You're an adult now Marie; act like one'," she mocks huffily, anger taking hold over the misery. "Filthy hypocrite," she mumbles, downing the rest of her coffee and twirling the mug between her fingers. "I shouted at him then came straight here. And you were nice to me and... yeah. I turned into a sobbing mess. Sorry about that."

He takes her hand and kisses her fingers as she finishes.

"Don't apologise, ma chérie. I'm glad you came."

She snorts.

"Yeah right. Because all guys love it when a snivelling wreck of a girl comes crawling in through their window."

He catches her chin and forces her to meet his gaze. His eyes are glowing again, the brown of the iris' turning several different shades of red.

"Don't ever talk about yourself like that again, do you hear me?"

She blinks at his sharp tone and wrenches her head from his grasp. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

"You're not a 'snivelling wreck'. And you're certainly not just a girl. You're all woman, chérie, and if Bobby can't see that then it's his loss. My gain though, hein?"

She sniggers a little at that, the tense atmosphere dissipating a little. He grins at her and takes her hand again.

"Now, I have a question."

"Am I gonna break up with him?" Rogue guesses. She shakes her head and looks at the floor. "I dunno. I know I should, but then they'll all ask awkward questions, and I don't really wanna answer them. This is... it's between us, you know? None of their business," she says haltingly, trying to put her feelings into words. He smiles at the last acknowledgement and nods.

"Oui, and interesting, but not what I was going to ask."

She blinks and laughs a little. She's just made a fool of herself. Well, to be honest, that's been a theme all night so far. Maybe it's a little late to start thinking about censoring what she says.

"Oh. Then what?"

"Marie?" he enquires, sounding hopeful. She blinks, wondering where he heard that, then realises that she said it herself while ranting about Logan. She blushes and looks down at their joined hands.

"It's my real name," she admits quietly. Apart from Logan, nobody at Xavier's knows her name. She has never even told Bobby, and they've been 'together' almost three years. Perhaps it's time somebody else knows. After all, as much as her codename describes her behaviour for the past year, Rogue is an untouchable mutant with an attitude problem. As the last hour or so has adequately proven, with Remy she is not that person. She wants to be Marie again. She hasn't let herself be soft or touchable in so long. "Anna Marie."

"C'est très jolie," he says, sounding genuinely happy. She turns her head to look at him, and sees the smile spreading across his face. He cups her cheeks with his hands and kisses the end of her nose. "Ma Anna Marie."

She giggles as he peppers her face with little kisses, darting along her brow, down her chin and carefully brushing both eyelids before returning to her nose and finally her lips.

"My Remy LeBeau," she breathes, feeling him freeze at the words. She pulls back, fearing she's pushed some boundary – she's been his for a long time, but this is the first time she's let the illusion that he is somehow hers swallow her enough for her to slip in his presence. He tugs her back before she can move more than an inch, kissing her with a fervour that she isn't expecting, but gladly responds to. Perhaps he doesn't mind after all.

They pull back when the need to breathe overpowers them, and Rogue reaches up to cover his hands with her own.

"Thank you, Remy."

"For what?" he purrs, grinning. "I haven't started yet."

She laughs at that and pulls away so she can focus on his face without going cross-eyed.

"For listening to me. For being there, I guess. I don't get that too often. So, thank you."

He looks at her like he's trying to find a hidden meaning in her words. He nods slowly, not losing eye contact with her even for a second.

"Anytime, Anna Marie."

She smiles and pulls his hands away from her face, directing them to her stomach before planting her own hands on his thighs and rubbing little circles into the denim with her thumbs. He makes a noise in the back of his throat and leans forward to kiss her again, moulding his hands against her body. The man has magic hands, she swears. The things he can do with his pinkie finger...

She tugs at his shirt, and seconds later it hits the floor. Hers follows not long after. She sighs as his mouth settles on her shoulder, kissing and licking his way down her collarbone. She pauses and grins, pushing at his chest until he withdraws, making protesting sounds.

"What?" he asks, eyes not moving higher than her bra. She doesn't care. She's just had an amazing idea.

"Do you have any chocolate?"

She loves when his eyes glow.


	5. Chapter 5

Hey, I'm back! Not quite dead, though the exams are trying their best. Oh well, one more, than then I can start doing coursework again... *sigh*. So, here we have Gambits p.o.v again, and I apologise in advance that a lot of this chapter is in italics, but I had a hell of a time with the formatting. If it's too difficult to read, I'll try to change it, but for the moment I'll leave it like this. Also, the next update won't take two months. I promise.

Disclaimer: I just had to pay a LOT of money to my landlord. If anybody wants to remiburse me, then that's great, but I'm not making any profit off this.

* * *

><p><em>At three-thirty this afternoon, an explosion ripped through the New York Mutant Advice Centre, killing at least five people and wounding several others. The cause of the blast is not yet known, but the police suspect it may have been a deliberate bombing.<em>

_The explosion blew out half a city block, causing huge amounts of property damage. Seventeen people were taken to hospital, including three children under the age of five. Their condition is described as critical, but stable. Five people are known to have been killed, and the fire department is still picking through the wreckage, looking for survivors. A spokesman says that they do not expect to find anybody still inside, as the building was evacuated moments before the collapse. An eyewitness at the scene had these words to say;_

"_It was awful. I heard this rumbling noise, then the next thing I know the place is on fire and everybody's screaming and running all over the place. I don't think anybody would have gotten out of there alive if it wasn't for those X-Men."_

_Several eyewitnesses report the presence of the mutant vigilante group known only as the X-Men. Their existence was denied by the government until two years ago, when they were credited with helping the US forces fight against the mutant terrorist Magneto on Alcatraz Island. Their identities are not known, but the president has declared them 'friends of the American people'. Since then, they have been associated with a great deal of mutant/human relations. Rumour states that they are the brainchild of the late Charles Xavier, frontrunner in the fight for mutant rights, but the government declines to comment on the matter and the X-Men themselves are unable to be interviewed._

_A spokeswoman for the police says that the X-Men team appeared about ten minutes after the explosion and began to aid rescue efforts, putting out fires and pulling survivors from the collapsing building. At least four lives were saved thanks to their efforts._

_So far, nobody has come forward to claim responsibility for the attack, but if found to be a deliberate bombing, then the incident will be declared a terrorist attack. If anybody has any information regarding the explosion, then please contact the police using the number on the screen now..._

Gambit turns off the television with a snort, throwing the remote onto the sofa beside him hard enough to make it bounce. So far as news reports about mutant-related crime go, that is incredibly positive. It is also about as accurate as a blind monkey throwing darts.

He knows firsthand what it was like, because he was there. No two explosions are the same – he should know, after all – and that had been a particularly bad one. It looked like an exceptionally malicious pacman came along and took a huge bite out of the city block, chewed it up and spat it back out again. Even he had been horrified by the amount of damage, even more so when he realised which building bore the brunt of the bombing.

He had been running errands in town - even world-class Thieves need groceries – when the attack happened. He'd been at the other end of the street, and had managed, through long experience, to keep his feet as those around him were thrown to the ground. The groceries had been dropped by the roadside, forgotten as he hurried towards the blast site. Then he saw something that made him stop in his tracks. Or rather, someone. Rogue.

_His headlong flight towards the explosion is halted suddenly when he sees her. She is doing much the same as him, only there is a man running beside her, shouting at her to get inside and get people out. She nods and heads right inside the building while the man pirouettes to a stop by the entrance and holds his arms out at his sides. Claws slide out of his knuckles, and he chuckles at the screams that meet them._

"_I'll run crowd-control 'til the others get here," he growls, gesturing at groups of people he deems to be too close to the building. Gambit is one of those people._

_No way is he going to mess with those claws, especially as he knows exactly how much damage they can cause; he recognises the man with his Rogue. Wolverine, the homicidal mutant who'd hired him years ago to fly to Striker's island. The man who'd got himself shot in the head and woken with no memory. It occurs to him that this is also the 'Logan' Rogue talked about. Gambit knows, from the fleeting glance and the glare the feral mutant levels his way, that he doesn't remember him at all, thus there is no way he's about to let him into the building to help Rogue. He backs off and runs around the back of the building. There is also no way he's letting her run into a burning building without some kind of backup._

"_Chère__?" he calls, as he breaks into what's left of the Mutant Advice Centre. Logan has his hands... ahem, claws, full at the front of the building, and nobody else seems inclined to stop him as he runs around the back of the building and uses his bo staff to vault in through a blown-out first storey window. He never leaves the house without his staff – long training with the Thieves Guild that he can't seem to shake, but right now, he's glad of it. He also has a few throwing knives secreted about his trench coat and three decks of cards in various pockets, but he doesn't think he'll be needing those. He's here to help, not to maim._

"_Rogue?" he calls again, this time getting a response. It is not from Rogue however, but a woman who lies trapped under a collapsed table. He leans down and lifts the broken wood off her back, eliciting a groan of pain but freeing her legs, which seem to be working fine as she pushes herself upright._

"_Who are you?" she gasps out, leaning heavily against his arm while she regains her balance. He grips her shoulder to help her out._

"_A friend," he answers evasively; he hopes that she'll think he's with the X-Men (whenever they deign to show up – they're a lot slower than he imagined they'd be), and so his cover won't get blown. He doesn't want to have to leave New York because a group of Assassins heard about him on the ten o'clock news._

_She lets go of his arm as she finds her feet again, and he sets off towards the doorway, set once again on finding his Rogue. The woman squeaks and follows him, apparently of the mindset that he's going to lead her out of there safely. He lets her; he doesn't have time to get her out and come back. He can hear a low rumbling from beneath his feet. They don't have long before the whole place collapses around them._

"_Rogue!" he yells, desperately. This time he is rewarded with the sound of his __chère__'s voice, drifting from around the corner._

"_Gambit?" she asks, incredulous. He leads the woman following him towards the sound, and finds himself standing in a stairwell, half a flight up from the surprised Rogue. She also has people with her; two men and a woman who, Gambit assumes from the way they're dressed, work in the building, and a little boy who she cradles in her arms. The woman behind him lets out a relieved sob._

"_Toby!" she cries, pushing past Gambit and hurtling towards the child in Rogue's arms. The boy stirs at her voice and his eyes crack open._

"_Mama?" he asks shakily. The woman nods and peppers his face with kisses. Then she grabs both her son and Rogue into a tight hug. Rogue looks startled by the sudden warmth, but allows the woman to embrace her for several seconds before gently shoving her away. She levitates herself and the young boy up the stairs to Gambit._

"_What are you doing in here?" she asks him. He opens his mouth, but the building lets out a most unpleasant crunching noise before he can reply. His eyes widen. He knows what that means; get the hell out or get crushed. He grabs the boy from Rogue's arms and spins her around, pulling her down several steps alongside him._

"_Time for that later, eh __chère__?" he quips, shooting her a grin. She shakes loose from his grip and nods reluctantly._

"_Fine," she says, turning her gaze to the four adults still standing below them. "He's with me. Follow him; he'll get you out safe. I'm going to look for anyone else still inside."_

_He wants to argue with her, to keep her from doing something so stupidly suicidal, but she doesn't give him a chance to. She's flying away from him before he can even formulate a sentence. He is all set to follow her – he ran into that building to get her the hell out of it – but then the boy in his arms coughs and squirms, and the building rumbles beneath his feet. He sighs and gives in. He has no idea how to get out if he takes them to the ground floor, so he leads everyone to the window he'd gotten in by and helps them out one by one. The drop isn't too far, and as soon as all of them are on the ground he pulls them away from the building and shepherds them towards the emergency services which are just pulling up in the street in front of the building. He shoves the boy into the arms of a paramedic, and by the time anybody opens their mouths to either question or thank him, he is gone._

_The appearance of the police on the street hinders his efforts to help Rogue. Training and instinct kick in as he hears the whine of the police car, and he is halfway up a nearby fire escape before he even realises what he's doing. It's ingrained into him – _avoid the police_._

_At about the same time the cops show up, the X-Men do too. He recognises them not from their faces, but their clothing. Logan and Rogue are in comfortable, normal jeans and shirts; possibly out shopping or walking, but certainly not there to deal with the explosion. For all anybody knows, they are just good Samaritans helping out. There is no doubt that the people now appearing on the street are there for the Advice Centre, however, clad as they are in black leather uniforms with silver embellishments on the front. Most prominent is the letter 'X' in a circle, the insignia of the X-Men._

"_About time," Gambit grumbles under his breath. Finally, his __chère__ has help._

_The first X-Man on the scene swoops in on a slide made of ice and starts to cool off the fires raging on the ground floor. The firemen, whose hoses where not doing much to the flames, nod to him and turn their attentions to the smoking cars nearby, going so far as to turn their hoses on the neighbouring buildings in case they go up. Gambit dodges the spray and climbs to the roof, where he can see everything much easier._

_As soon as he steps foot on the roof, it begins to rain heavily. He curses, but attributes it to the powers of one of the X-Men. That's two down. He wonders how many others will show up._

_The emergency services still close to the building clear away as the rain intensifies, affording Gambit a great, if somewhat wet, view. He clearly sees a brunette girl – if she's older than late teens he'll eat his trench coat – running through the flames and rubble into the ruined building. Actually _through _them. This must be the little girl who walks through walls. Interesting._

_He runs a hand through his sopping hair, brushing it out of his eyes just in time to see the roof begin to crumble. A large chunk of masonry falls, headed straight for the ice-mutant on the ground. He grits his teeth and aims a soggy card, hoping he can still throw it straight. He manages, and the explosion reduces the lethal lump of stone to dust, falling harmlessly on the street below. Nobody looks up, which he supposes means that the noise of the weather and the collapsing building covered the popping of his card._

_A man in his early twenties with biceps as wide around as Rogue's waist runs towards the creaking foyer and grabs a supporting beam, holding it upright. Gambit clucks his tongue. Stupid. Sure, the guy is muscled, but that alone isn't going to keep the ceiling where it should be. He's going to get crushed._

_The sunlight glints off his body as he turns himself to steel. Huh. Maybe he's not such an idiot after all._

_No amount of support at the base can stop what remains of the roof collapsing outwards. A great gust of wind pushes against it, halting its descent for maybe a second, but gravity claims the edifice and with a great groan, it pulls away from the rest of the building. No amount of exploding cards can reduce this to dust before it hits the street and crushes the iceboy still standing in its path, trying to put out the remaining fires. Gambit winces in anticipation._

_There is a crash as the rubble hits the road, but when he can bring himself to look again, the fires are still going down. The iceboy is fine; rubble surrounds him, but he himself is untouched. And floating in the air above him is Rogue. She got out ok. Gambit breathes a sigh of relief. Then he realises what she's just done, and he stares. The roof cut a large portion of her shirt away from her back, but her skin looks undamaged. She picks a small chunk of brick from her hair and tosses it away casually. Gambit's jaw drops. That building just hit her full on, and she looks mildly annoyed that there is dirt in her hair. She has told him before that she is invulnerable, but it is only just sinking in what that actually means. He swallows hard._

_She calls down to check that the iceboy is unharmed, then turns and shoots back into the top floor of the building. Gambit throws a lightly charged card over, and it explodes behind her, startling her and making her look around to him. He smirks, waves, then gestures at her to get out of the building. She shakes her head and disappears through a hole in the floor. He curses. Damn woman is too stubborn for her own good._

_The brunette girl emerges from the building supporting two people. She says something to the tin man, who nods and shifts his hold on the beam. The entire building creaks and moans. The girl moves faster, handing the injured mutants over to a woman with long white hair who has just floated down from the skies. The brunette turns to head back inside, but the loudest creak yet emerges from the building, and the iceboy pulls her back. The tin man just manages to make it out before the entire thing collapses in on itself. Gambit starts and races for the fire escape. Rogue is still inside! Invulnerable is not immortal, and there is no way anybody can survive having a building fall on them._

_The aftershocks of the collapse have faded into silence by the time his feet touch the ground. He starts towards the building – he no longer cares who sees him as long as he can get Rogue out of there – but stops when there is a groan of shifting brick and a section of the collapsed rubble twitches to one side. The tin man moves quickly to the spot, tugging at the concrete block until it rolls away. Underneath, curled protectively over two other bodies, is Rogue. She isn't moving, which immediately worries Gambit, but the tin man carefully extricates her from the hole and lays her on the ground. She rolls to her side and coughs, grasping her ribs with a pained groan. She is not only alive, she is conscious and, if the metal man's calls to the other X-Men mean what he thinks they do, has saved two people's lives. He watches from his hiding spot with something akin to awe as she stands up and limps away from the hole._

_After all that excitement, he doesn't have a chance to find her and check that she is alright. Reporters are starting to arrive, and Logan grabs Rogue and pulls her away from the flashing lights into an alley not far away. From the roar of the motorbike, Gambit surmises that they're getting away from the trouble and letting the uniformed X-Men take the credit. Gambit sees one cameraman setting up to scan the crowd, and decides to follow their example, high-tailing it back to his apartment before he ends up on the news._

That was four hours ago, and he still hasn't been able to contact her and check on her condition. He knows that she is probably fine, but his heart clenches each time he thinks of her lying in the wreckage, unmoving, and he cannot seem to convince himself that she really is alright. His head keeps telling him that she should be dead.

Normally, he wouldn't care so much about her condition; his one-night stands rarely get a second thought once he leaves them. But Rogue isn't a one-night stand. He doesn't know what to call her, but he does know that she is special. Special enough to risk his own life by running into a collapsing building after her. Special enough that he cannot get her out of his head. By his standards, that's pretty damn special. Ever since his exile, he hasn't let himself care about anybody. It hurts too much. He doesn't know when or how, but the girl has worked her way under his skin.

He picks up his phone and dials her number once again. Once again, it goes direct to voicemail. He grits his teeth and hangs up. "Damnit, answer the bloody phone, woman," he growls, throwing the handset onto the sofa beside the TV remote. If she'd only pick up, he could convince himself that she isn't lying dead somewhere and finally get some sleep tonight. He gives it five more minutes and tries again. Voicemail. He sighs and leaves a message this time, hoping that she will call him back when she gets it. If she gets it. He hangs up and shakes his head, but the sight of her lying motionless and bloody will not leave his mind. He is not sure where the blood in his imagination came from – she certainly wasn't bleeding when he saw her earlier – but it isn't helping him to stay calm.

One more phone call, another message on her voicemail, and he has had enough. He won't be getting any rest until he knows she is ok, so he is going to check. He knows where she lives, and he is a master Thief; even if it is the home of the X-Men, it can't be that hard to break into a school, right?


	6. Chapter 6

Told you it wouldn't take me another 2 months. We're back to Rogue, hope you like it.

Disclaimer: If I owned it, I would have more than £300 to live on for the rest of this year...

* * *

><p>For the second time in a week, Rogue finds herself woken at an ungodly hour by the border alarm. Grumbling, she flies from her balcony around to the back of the manor, where the perimeter lights are flashing. She's had a hard day; her bonding time with Logan earlier was cut short by the bombing of the Mutant Advice Centre, then Gambit showed up out of nowhere and tried to tell her how to do her job – all she wants is one night of uninterrupted sleep. But no, the fates can't even grant her that. She's not happy, and whoever is responsible for waking her at half past two in the frigging morning is going to bear the brunt of her wrath.<p>

She rounds the corner at a reckless speed, not caring that she's leaving herself wide open to get shot at. She's already had half a building collapse on her today; she can't get any more bruised. She expects her 'sixth sense' to start screaming at her for her carelessness, but as with Logan's surprise appearance, nothing happens. Unlike Logan's arrival however, there is nobody waiting for her beneath the flashing lights. She frowns and looks around, but sees nothing out of place. Her senses tell her that nothing is wrong. What the hell set off the alarm?

Logan puts in an appearance as she's spinning in the air, looking for whatever set off the alarm. She shrugs and lands beside him, utterly confused, and unwilling to turn off the wailing alarm until she knows it's safe. Logan sniffs around a little, then moves to the edge of the lawn and kicks at a large tree branch that's leaning against the fence.

"Smells burnt," he says, shoving it onto its side and away from the fence. "No other scent on it. Must've fallen and set off the alarm. Turn it off Kid, before I do."

He waves his claws in the air. Rogue smiles and flies into the air, flicking the alarm reset. The blaring whine dies away, and Logan pulls cotton buds from his ears.

"Need to get better earplugs," he grumbles. Rogue hums an agreement, not really paying attention. Her 'sixth sense' is telling her that there's more to this than just a tree branch, but she has no idea what. She doesn't think it's dangerous, at least, but she wants to have another look around outside. She waves Logan back towards the building.

"Sure, yeah. You go back in Logan; Storm's got you teaching in the morning. I'm free 'til midday; I'll take care of this. Go calm everyone down."

He raises an eyebrow at her, but nods slowly and backs up a step. "Sure thing, Kid. Though if you want 'calm', I may not be the best person. I can do 'terrified', how's that?"

She smirks at him. "Just go tell them nobody's trying to break in."

At least, she doesn't think anyone is. He turns his back and jogs around the mansion, meeting Ororo halfway. There is a babble of voices as the kids are herded back to bed, and Rogue's feeling of something off begins to disappear. She grabs the branch that apparently caused all the chaos and lifts it over the fence, dropping it in the trees on the other side. Then, still wary, she does a quick aerial patrol of the surrounding area. There is nothing out of place, at least nothing she can see. Mollified, she returns to the now dark and quiet mansion and slips back in through her balcony doors. She can get another few hours of sleep before she has to get up and teach again.

It is as she is shutting the door behind her that her sixth sense prickles again. She releases the door and spins, grabbing the intruder in her room and twisting in the air to land on top as they fall to the floor. Her knees pin his legs to the ground and her hands wrap tightly around his wrists. He grins up at her.

"Kinky, chère. I like."

She growls at him and tightens her grip on his arms. He winces and shifts uncomfortably. "Hey now, that's not nice. I'm not here to hurt anybody."

She scrutinises him for several seconds before she speaks. "I told Logan that nobody was trying to break in."

Gambit bites his lip. She sighs huffily and shoves herself off him, pacing by his feet and throwing her arms in the air. "Why? Why would you do that? Is it some 'thief' thing, or do you just like to irritate me? This is the second time this week that blasted alarm woke me up, and I am not happy, do you hear me Remy?"

Remy levers himself to his elbows and grins up at her. "Loud and clear, chère. But before you throw me out of here; I wasn't breaking in to steal anything."

"Then it is to annoy me. Great. Not what I need right now."

"Non, Marie, not that. After this afternoon..." He scrambles to his feet and reaches out to her, then thinks better of it when he sees the look in her eyes and drops his arm back to his side. He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair, making it stick up at odd angles. His eyes are bloodshot. He looks like he's gotten even less sleep than her tonight. "I wanted to make sure you were ok. Obviously, you are. So, I'll just be going now. Have a nice night."

He strides past her towards the balcony. She sighs and rolls her eyes. Men have such fragile egos.

"Remy, wait."

She knows he's smirking, and that she probably just played right into some kind of mental countdown, but decides to ignore that for the time being. He turns, his face carefully controlled.

"Oui chère?"

"What're you doing here? Why did you set off the alarm? I assume it was you, mister 'World-Class-Thief'."

He pouts at her. "Hey, now that's uncalled for."

"So you didn't set off the alarm and wake everybody up at half past two in the morning?"

He blinks and pouts some more, and she giggles at him. "I thought so. So, the alarm? My room? Unsociable hours? Any time you want to start explaining, feel free."

He sighs and flops backwards onto her bed, grinning up at her. "Join moi, Marie."

She mock scowls as she sits beside him. "Just 'cus you know my name now, doesn't mean you get to use it whenever you like. I don't want everybody knowing it."

He tilts his head to one side curiously. "Nobody else knows?"

"Well, Logan does, but apart from him..." she shrugs. He grins at her. Her gaze narrows, suspicious. "Why?"

"No reason," he says, far too innocently. She opens her mouth to start telling him off, but he cuts her off before she can utter more than his name. Damned irritating Cajun. "I set the alarm off so I could sneak in on the other side while you were investigating around there. Your room seemed the best place to find you, so I watched where you flew out from – I like the pyjamas, by the way, shows your legs nice when you fly – and I climbed up here to wait for you. There wasn't a better way in without more surveillance, and I didn't have time for that. You got a good security system there."

"Thanks, I'll send your regards to the guy who designed it. You still haven't said why you're here in the first place."

His face falls slightly, and maybe it's the light, but she could swear he's blushing. It must be some kind of shadow effect. Gambit doesn't blush, he just delights in making everyone else uncomfortable.

"To see you," he mutters finally. She rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, I got that bit. Why? It's nearly three in the morning; I was trying to sleep."

"Well, if you'd answer your phone..." he says heatedly, sitting upright suddenly. She blinks at him, thrown for a moment, then her temper rises to match his.

"Now wait a minute. My phone was in my pocket when that goddamned building collapsed on me, and unlike me, it's not invulnerable. So, I'm sorry if you couldn't get hold of me, but it's a little crushed at the moment and I haven't had a chance to replace it yet," she says, as loudly as she dares given that Logan is somewhere in the building and she doesn't want him walking in on this. She gestures to a pile of broken circuitry on her dresser, the remains of a once-functioning cell phone. Gambit looks abashed, but she isn't finished yet. "Second, I like you Remy, I like you a lot, but just 'cus you can touch me, does _not_ give you the right to call me up whenever you please and expect me to respond to your booty call. And then to actually _come here_..."

Gambit's eyes flash at that, and he interrupts her loudly. "That's what you think this is? That's what you think of me? Really, Marie?"

They're both angry, but the sound from down the hallway drains all the tension from the pair instantly. Rogue pales. "Logan," she whispers, cursing, then grabs Gambit and shoves him unceremoniously into her closet and shuts the door. She flies to the balcony and flings the door open, hoping the influx of cold air will be enough to confuse Logan's nose. She is just in time; he flings her bedroom door open seconds after she alights on the balcony. His claws are out, and he sniffs the air suspiciously. He glares across the room at her.

"You alright, Kid? I heard yelling."

She nods, trying and probably failing to look innocent. "Yeah, I'm fine. Psyche trouble. Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

He looks at her carefully, then shoots a glance at the wardrobe. She gulps. He returns his gaze to her and retracts his claws slowly, eyeing her. "Yeah, ok. Keep it down, Kid. Don't make me come up here again."

"Yes sir," she says shakily. He nods once, not taking his gaze from her, then turns slowly and leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. Her knees feel shaky, so she flies back into the room and opens the closet door. Gambit looks back at her from his half-sprawled position, disgruntled.

"What the hell, chère?"

"He knew," she whispers, biting her lip and ignoring Gambit's ire. He flails as he attempts to regain his footing, and finally manages to pull himself semi-gracefully from the wardrobe. She sinks onto the bed, head in her hands. "Oh god, he knew."

"Who knew what?" Gambit asks, rubbing his head where it connected with the back of the closet. He sits beside her, gently touching her shoulder and moving her hands away from her face. "Hey, none of that, chérie. It's ok."

"Logan," she says shortly, still trying to process the look on his face. She's seen it from so many others, but even when he was telling her off about Bobby, he hadn't looked at her like that. Like he's disappointed with her. Like she's let him down. "Logan knew you were here."

Gambit glances between her and the door, not grasping the problem. "So?"

She shakes her head, unable to articulate it. She can take Logan being angry, being scared, being protective, but that look has never led her good places before. She doesn't want to let Logan down, no matter how many times he's done it to her. He left her alone, in a place full of people who were scared of her, who wouldn't touch her, wouldn't even come near her for over a year, and _she_ doesn't want to disappoint _him_. Exactly how screwed up is she anyway?

"Hey, Rogue," Gambit says, waving a hand in front of her face. She blinks and focuses on him. She's cheating on her boyfriend, who cheated on her with her best friend, with a man who is sixteen years her senior, a Thief in exile, and just broke into her house in the middle of the night after setting off the border alarm as a 'distraction'. Perhaps contemplating how screwed up she is, is a bad idea.

She sniffs and shakes her head. "I'm ok. So, why are you here?" she asks, before he can say anything about her minor freak-out. He contemplates her silently for a moment, then shakes his head, but answers her question.

"I came to check you were ok. Are ok. After that building fell on you, and then you weren't moving... I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You know, that kind of thing kills most people."

She smiles at him. "I'm not most people."

He chuckles at that. "Non, you are definitely not. You are alright though?"

She nods, shrugging and arching her back as his questions remind her of the aches that lie along her spine. "I'm fine. A little bruised up, but nothing that won't heal by morning."

He smiles, taking her at her word. "Bon," he says, leaning forward to kiss her neck. "Très bon." She arches into his touch, giving him better access, and his tongue flicks behind her ear. She groans, then remembers who else is in the building and pulls away reluctantly.

"I can't sugar. Not here. Logan."

He nods and kisses her neck one more time before pulling back. "I know. Désolé. I just need... I wanted to be sure."

She nods and turns to face him squarely. "Why were you there earlier? In the building?"

He grins at her and kisses the end of her nose teasingly. "Trying to get your stupid ass out of the flaming death-trap."

She rolls her eyes and grins back. "Well, my stupid ass saved lives in there, so tough."

He pulls her tight in a hug, burying his face in her hair. She wraps her arms around him and hugs back, happy to be held. He mumbles something into her hair; she pulls back and smiles at him, amused.

"What was that?"

"I said, you got any plans for the rest of the night?"

She shakes her head slowly. "You mean other than sleep...?"

He grins at her and kisses her forehead. "Come with moi."

She blinks at him. "What?"

"Come with moi. Right now; we'll just leave. Have a night to ourselves, no worrying about anything else."

She pulls back from him, looking him up and down, dumbfounded. "Remy, I... Are you serious?"

"Oui, totally. Come on, it'll be fun," he wheedles, smirking at her. "I have chocolate..."

She cracks a smile at that. "I have lessons tomorrow..."

"So we'll get you home before they start. Come on chérie, you deserve a night off. _We_ deserve a night. A full night; no leaving at two am to get back to your stupid mansion." He softens his voice at the end of his rant, looking into her eyes, leaving her in no doubt that he means every word he's saying. "S'il te plait, Marie. Come with moi."

She nods; she can't do anything else. "Alright. Give me five minutes to get changed?"

He nods, eyeing her clothing as she stands. Or, her lack thereof. She's wearing a tank top and a pair of shorts that leave a lot of leg exposed. "Sure thing. Though, gotta say chère, I like what you got on."

She blushes and sashays over to her dresser, pulling out more appropriate clothing for a night spent with Gambit. "I'm sure you do. It's not good for flying though."

"I beg to differ," he mutters, but says nothing else as she finishes pulling clothes from the closet – all slightly rumpled after Gambit's brief stay there. She starts to head for her bathroom, then checks herself. This is Remy. She turns her back to him, grinning, and tugs the tank top over her head, replacing it with a black lace bra. The comment she expects doesn't come, so she shoots him a curious look over her shoulder. He is eyeing her bookcase, running his fingers over the spines. She walks up behind him.

"You like to read?"

He nods absently. "Oui, sometimes, but my collection's nothing like yours. Vampires? Really?"

Oh. It is her choice of reading material that has caught his interest, not the number of books. She shrugs. "Yeah. Problem?"

He turns to face her, his expression serious. "You wouldn't happen to be reading about vampires 'cus of your mutation, would you?"

She blinks at him. He sighs and shakes his head, reaching out and pulling her close to him. "You're not a vampire, Marie. You're not a leech, or a parasite, or any of those other things. You're a beautiful, amazing young woman, and I..." he trails off, pressing a kiss to her hair, then her forehead, then the end of her nose. She blinks at him, unsure if she heard what she thinks she did, and unwilling to ask. She's probably wrong anyway. He couldn't feel like that about her, could he?

She smiles up at him uncertainly. "There are plenty of erotic scenes in them too," she hedges. He smirks a little and shakes his head.

"I'm sure there are. But, chère, why you wanna be reading those when you got moi around, eh? I'm better than some silly book."

"You sure about that?" she teases. He gapes at her.

"Hey! That's not nice."

"You already said that," she giggles. He pokes her.

"It bears repeating. Now, are we going?"

She nods and pulls away from him, moving back towards her pile of clothes. "Sure. Let me get dressed."

"You look fine to moi," he says, voice low. She shoots him a grin over her shoulder.

"Down boy."

He laughs at that. Three minutes later, Rogue is fully dressed (much to Gambit's grumbling) and has flown them both to where he hid his motorcycle. He sits on and starts the engine, then looks around at her. "Marie? You getting on?"

She shakes her head, laughing, and lifts off from the ground. She grins at him. "Race you."

His laughter follows her as she takes off without him. "Cheat!"

She giggles and slows enough to coast along by his side. He came to check on her. He called her beautiful. He almost said...

Well, he may not say it, and she certainly isn't about to. But she's sure as hell feeling it. The warmth in her chest, the fire in her veins when he touches her. She knows, and she thinks he does too.

_My Remy LeBeau_ she thinks, a contented smile taking over her face. She settles on the bike behind him, startling him into slowing until she's settled. _His Anna Marie_. She likes the sound of that. She likes it a lot.


	7. Chapter 7

Okay, chapter 7. Hope people like it :) Only one more to go after this...

For anyone who's interested, the story Remy tells Rogue here takes place a couple of years after he takes Logan to Three Mile Island.

Disclaimer: I own NOTHING. Wish I did, 'cus I have no money, but I don't.

* * *

><p>Gambit is used to waking up beside beautiful women. He is well accustomed with the feeling of a soft, warm body pressed against his side, his left arm tingling because her head is lying on it. He is familiar with the first scent of the day being a flowery or citrus hair product, and the first action, before he's even fully awake, to gently wake her by dragging his lips up her throat, kissing delicately at the vein that pulses until he reaches her ear. His first words are soft, a mere breath as she stirs and he whispers "bon matin, chérie," before turning his head for a close-mouthed kiss, so as to avoid morning breath.<p>

He is not used to waking up beside Rogue, however.

As is usual, he wakes slowly, feeling the pins-and-needles in his left arm and her soft curves lying against his side. He smells her hair, jasmine and some other scent he can't put a name to, not that he's trying very hard. He grins lazily as he remembers the previous night; getting back to his apartment at just gone four, kicking the door shut behind him as he gathers her into his arms and carries her, giggling, towards the bedroom. Her refusing to be carried all the way and spinning around to lift them both into the air, then dropping him on his back onto the bed, laughing at the expression on his face.

He rolls over so he can reach her neck better and begins his usual routine, brushing his lips along her throat. He's prepared for the usual reaction; a slow awakening, a satisfied smile when she realises what's happening, finished off by a simple kiss and a muttered greeting back to him.

What actually happens is that Marie wakes suddenly, her eyes snapping open as she smacks him in the throat. He gasps for air and rolls off her, coughing and rubbing at his neck. The blow brings tears to his eyes. He feels her roll off the bed, but doesn't hear her hit the ground. She must be flying. He doesn't much care why; he's more concerned with getting his breath and vision back. By the time he manages and rolls over to look at her, she is kneeling on the edge of the mattress, blushing and looking down at him guiltily.

"Are you ok?" she asks. He coughs once more and pushes himself to a sitting position so as to be level with her. He blinks at her, raising one hand to massage his aching throat.

"What the hell was that for?" he gasps, his voice raspy. It's going to take a while before he can talk normally again, though given her strength, maybe he should be grateful that he can talk at all.

She blushes deeper and looks down at her lap. "Sorry about that. I don't have the best experience with waking up to people leaning over me. Normally leads bad places."

He lets his hand drop and considers her statement. She _is_ an X-Man, and while he knows that it's dangerous, he's never really thought about her being in that kind of position. Next time, he's going to find a different way to wake her up.

"It's ok, chère. No harm done." At least, he thinks not. Once his voice gets back to normal, he should be fine. "I didn't think about what it'd look like to you."

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

He rubs at his throat again and shakes his head. "Winded moi. It'll heal."

"Sorry," she repeats, not meeting his gaze. He sighs, winces at the sensation it causes in his throat, then lifts her head gently and presses a kiss to her lips. She responds slowly, uncertainly. He shakes his head. How did Bobby react to that welcome in the morning, he wonders, not sure if he wants to think about his Rogue and her boyfriend in this position. He doesn't realise he's asked aloud until Rogue sniffs, her emotions spiking in anger and hurt.

"He didn't. Even though I'd taken the Cure, he'd never let me stay with him at night. He was scared I'd absorb him in my sleep, and not be able to stop."

Gambit blinks at her. Is she serious? He shakes his head at the stupidity of it, wondering privately why she ever agreed to date the little prick at all. "That's stupid. He's stupid. Don't you listen to him, Anna."

"I try not to," she agrees, calming down, her head tilting to one side as she regards him with amusement. "Anna?"

He blinks at her. "It's your name, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I just don't normally use it. Even with my parents, I was always Marie."

"Sorry, I won't use it again," he says, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. She stops him with her hand on his arm.

"No. No, it's ok. I... I like it. Nobody else calls me Anna."

He grins at her, warmth spreading through his chest at her words. Not only does he have her name, a thing denied even to her boyfriend, he has permission to call her by a unique version of it. With any other woman, this would mean nothing, but he is finding more and more that he wants to learn all these little things about her. He wants to have parts of her that nobody else does. And, even more strangely, he wants to give her those parts of him too.

He nods, leans over and kisses her once more, whispering "Anna," to her before he shoves off the bed and pads towards the bathroom. He is going to have a hot shower, and hope that the steam rids him of the unusual feelings this girl gives him. He calls to her over his shoulder, telling her to help herself to breakfast, he'll be right out. She calls back an agreement, and when he emerges into the kitchen ten minutes later, she has made him coffee – black, the way he likes it – and is sat at the table with her own mug wearing nothing but one of his shirts. He grins at the sight.

"I was looking for that a few minutes ago."

She looks up and grins at him cheekily. "Do you want it back?"

She reaches for the top button. He lets her undo two of them, bringing her cleavage into view before he shakes his head. "Non, you keep it. Looks better on you that it ever did on moi."

She smirks at him and turns back to her coffee. He grabs his own mug and sits beside her.

"So, that was quite the welcome. You always wake up that suddenly?"

She shrugs and apparently finds her mug very interesting all of a sudden. "Only when my 'sixth sense' goes off like that. You're lucky I was still half asleep; if I'd hit you at full strength, you'd have gone through the wall."

He thinks she's trying to make a joke, but her words are all too true, and her tone tells him that she's scared at how close she came to doing just that. He smirks at her and kisses her cheek. She watches him out of the corner of her eye.

"Well then, I'll just have to find a way of waking you up that doesn't set off this 'sixth sense' of yours. Maybe I'll poke you with a big stick next time; something that keeps me out of reach, hein?" he jokes. She looks up to him with wide eyes.

"Next... next time?"

"Ouais. There a problem, chérie? I thought you had fun last night."

Is he losing his touch? She wouldn't fake anything with him, would she?

She blushes and looks back at her coffee. "I did. I just thought, after I hit you..."

Oh, right. Her insecurities. He swears, if he ever meets Bobby face to face, he's going to beat him up then blow him up. Maybe he should thank him first actually. If he'd never cheated, then Gambit would have never met Rogue. Ok, so thank the little bâtard, _then_ beat up/blow up. Remy grins. He likes this plan.

"Of course there'll be a next time, Anna. Unless you don't want to?"

"No! No, I mean..."

He leans over and kisses her. She squeaks in surprise, then kisses him back. She's a little breathless when she pulls away.

"Ok, so, _when_ can I stay again?"

He laughs and opens his mouth to reply, but is interrupted by the upbeat jangle of his cell phone. He mutters an apology and picks it up, checking the caller ID before he answers.

"Bonjour Henri. You're up early."

"S'il te plait, tell moi you're not in New York."

Gambit blinks, frowning at the phone. He normally gets at least a 'bonjour' before they get down to business. "I'm not in New York."

Henri breathes a sigh of relief over the phone. "Good. Where are you?"

Remy rolls his eyes. "New York. I was just telling you what you wanted to hear. Why shouldn't I be here?"

Anna looks up at him as he says that, concern in her gaze. He puts his free hand on her shoulder, though who he's trying to reassure, he's not certain.

Henri swears violently in French. "You went to that bombing yesterday, didn't you? Fils de putain! It was a trap, Remy!"

Gambit pales and tightens his grip on Anna's shoulder. "The Assassins."

"Oui. Belle set them onto it; something about rumours you'd settled down in the Big Apple. Damnit Remy, how stupid are you? You know the Assassins are still gunning for you! What you thinking, staying in one place?"

"I..."

Henri sighs down the phone, and Remy can picture him in his mind, running his hand over his bald head as if he forgets momentarily that he has no hair to pull on. "Is she good in the sack, at least? She'd better be, to be worth dying over."

"Damnit, Henri, I'm not gonna die!"

Anna starts at these words, looking at his with wide eyes. Her emotions match his own; worry, shock, and not a little fear. And she doesn't even know Belle. Then again, the word 'assassin' probably gives it away.

Henri takes several deep breaths, making the line echo as he doesn't bother pulling the phone away from his mouth. "Non, you're not. You're gonna get the hell outta Dodge before they track you down and shoot you full of holes. Go anywhere; I don't care. But get outta there. Now."

"Henri..."

"No arguments. I'll call you back later. Be someplace else."

There is a second of tense silence, then Henri sighs and speaks once more, his voice soft this time.

"I love you, petit frère."

"Love you too, Henri."

Gambit hangs up and lays his phone on the table without seeing anything. He's too engrossed in his thoughts. It's Anna's hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing, that brings him back to the present.

"Remy?"

He shakes her hand off and stands, pacing around his kitchen agitatedly. She sits and watches him, waiting for him to calm down enough to talk. He takes a shaky breath and collapses into the seat opposite her, leaning his arms on the table and resting his forehead on his clenched fists.

"I've got to leave," he says quietly, muttering into his elbows rather than look her in the eyes. She rests her hand on his fists gingerly.

"There's somebody after you," she says softly. It's the kind of voice one uses when approaching a wounded horse, trying to keep it from bolting. He sighs and lifts his head, turning his hand over to entwine their fingers. She deserves to know.

"I told you I was raised a thief." She nods, her eyes trained on his. He takes a deep breath, then jumps in with both feet. There is no point in shielding her from his life any more. She's never going to see him again after today.

"I was adopted off the street when I was six. The man who adopted moi was Jean-Luc LeBeau, the head of the Thieves Guild. Raised moi in the profession; I was one of the best Thieves in the Guild. I was supposed to lead the Guild when he retired."

She squeezes his fingers gently. He smiles at her. So far, she's taking it well. Now for the hard bit.

"There is another Guild in New Orleans."

"The Assassins," she interrupts. He nods.

"The Assassins and the Thieves don't get along; been feuding for centuries. There was a pact to try to bring peace, stop all the fighting and the killing. I was supposed to marry the heir to the Assassins Guild, Belladonna Bordreaux. Belle.

"Her frère, Julien, he didn't like this plan. I didn't either, but if it helped stop all the killing, I'd have gone through with it. Almost did too. Was all set to say 'I do' when Julien bursts into the church, stinking drunk and waving a gun around, ranting about how a 'dirty Thief' weren't good enough for his sister.

"He starts firing pot-shots; don't none of them hit moi, but I ain't gonna just stand there and see if his aim improves, you know? I hit the ground, Belle's shrieking at everybody to grab him, but the first guy that tries ends up with a bullet in the chest, so nobody else wants to get too close. I ran down the side of the church, hiding behind the pews, managed to get close enough to grab him, knock him over. Charged the gun, grabbed it and threw it outside. Blew it up, thought it'd be safe enough then."

Anna takes his hands in both of hers and rubs little circles on his palms. He barely notices; he's stuck in the past, reliving the memories he's kept buried for years.

"I let him go, got to my feet. Thought someone else would grab him so we could get on with the wedding. Stupid. Shouldn't never turn your back on an Assassin. Next thing I know, there's a white-hot pain in my back, and when I turn around, Julien's standing there grinning, a knife in his hand with my blood on it. I got mad, grabbed for him. People were yelling and trying to pull us apart; I think Henri was trying to patch up my back best he could, I don't remember too clearly. Just pain and rage, and then I..."

He gulps, suddenly realising Anna is looking right at him. He drops his gaze to their hands and grips her fingers as tightly as he can.

"I charged him up. Didn't mean to; guess my powers reacted to the way I was feeling. Didn't even realise what I'd done 'til he..."

Anna moves around the table without letting go of his hands and pushes his chair back far enough to sit on his lap. He takes what she's offering and buries his head in her neck.

"I passed out, woke up three days later in some outta-the-way little motel with mon frère and père leaning over moi, telling moi to leave, that the Assassins were out for blood. I grabbed what I could carry and got the hell outta Dodge. Few days later, got a phone call saying they'd talked the Assassins outta having me killed on sight, but I was exiled from New Orleans. Can't ever go back home. That's been the hardest part. I miss them all so much.

"Got surgery to reduce my powers. Guy called Sinister. Creepy bâtard, but I was desperate. It worked; I can't charge living things any more. Cost a small fortune, but worth every cent.

"Lived like a nomad for years, passing from place to place, doing the odd job but mostly just... wandering. Reckon I saw most of the back roads of the US in those days. Stayed in some awful places...

Then, three years ago, Marius Bordreaux died. Belle took over the Guild, and the first thing she did was revoke my exile."

He pauses there. Anna waits a few seconds, then speaks hesitantly. "Isn't that a good thing? You can go home now."

He laughs hollowly, pulling back from her shoulder to rest his forehead against hers. She frees one hand and begins to rub it up and down his bicep. He smiles at her attempt to comfort him and continues.

"Oui, I can go home. I can go anywhere I like. Problem is, she didn't just call off the exile. Put out the kill-on-sight order too. Femme wants me dead real bad."

Anna's eyes widen, and her emotions whirl as she puts together what she heard of the phone call with the story he's just told her.

"They're coming after you here?"

He nods without pulling away from her, feeling her head move with him. He closes his eyes wearily.

"The bombing yesterday – that was them. Trying to ferret moi out, see if I really am in the city like they thought. Henri – mon frère – that was him on the phone. Told moi. I... I gotta go, chère. I gotta leave the city. If I stay, I'm dead. They'll find moi, and I'm dead."

He feels damp on his cheeks, and opens his eyes to see her face tearstained. She pulls him into a brief kiss, then pulls away and stands upright, still holding his hands in one of hers.

"I'll grab my things and go," she says softly, crying silently. Tears roll down her cheeks, and he stands and reaches out to brush them away. She lets him, smiling slightly and leaning into his touch, closing her eyes as his thumbs linger on her cheeks. She sniffs and moves back, clutching at the collar of the borrowed shirt.

"I'll give you the number for the mansion; please, Remy, call me and let me know you're ok. I know you can't tell me where you're going, but at least let me know you got out alive. Please."

He nods and kisses away the next two tears that well up. "Je te jure," he whispers, not taking his lips from her cheek. "I'll let you know."

She nods and moves away again, slowly working her way out of the kitchen backwards. She tugs at the shirt collar again and sighs.

"I'll take this off and go. Be safe, Remy, please. I need... I need to know you're safe."

"Keep it," he croaks, on the verge of tears himself. She nods, cracks a weak smile his direction, then turns and walks to the bedroom to gather her scattered clothing. He slumps against the table, wiping at his eyes and trying to work out why this hurts so much. He's known all along that someday the Assassins would find him, and he'll have to leave. He's prepared for it too; most of his possessions are in a travel bag under his bed. All he has to do is grab it and go; he can be out of New York in thirty minutes. So, why isn't he moving?

It hits him as Anna reappears in the kitchen doorway, dressed and clutching his shirt in her fingers. The Assassins blew up the Advice Centre yesterday, which means they were watching it. They must have seen him there, though if that's the case he's not sure why they haven't come for him already. He must have given them the slip somehow in the X-Men's rainstorm. He doesn't really care about that; if they saw him, then they must also have seen Anna. They'd have seen him run around the building looking for her, seen their interaction on the roof; hell, maybe they even saw them around together last night. She's in danger.

He hesitates in the kitchen as she looks in at him. The security system at the mansion is good, oui, but it's not going to keep out an Assassin. If he skips town, and they think that she might know where he is...

He can't do it. He can't leave her to face that. Invulnerable or not, he can't let her take the brunt of the Assassins hatred for him. Add to that the fact that there are a lot of young mutants at that mansion who _aren't_ invulnerable...

She senses his indecision and tilts her head to one side. "Remy?"

He takes a deep breath. There is a way out of this, but she isn't going to like it. Nor will his frère or père, but he doesn't see another way. He can't put her in that danger. He can't. He exhales shakily, coming to grips with his decision, then nods and walks over to her, pulling her into his arms and breathing in the smell of her hair.

"I'll drop you off at the mansion," he says, leaving no room for argument. He looks up at him in surprise, but he kisses her firmly, not letting her argue, then pulls her from the apartment before she can resist. He doesn't bother with his emergency bag. He remembers to grab his keys, and leads her down to where he stashed his bike last night. She slides on behind him, wrapping her arms around him tighter than she did last time, but that's fine by him.

With a roar, he sets off for the mansion. He is going to make sure that she gets home safely, he's going to settle his score with her dick of a boyfriend, then he's going to do it. Nobody is going to hurt his Rogue. His Anna Marie. Not because of him.


	8. Chapter 8

Hey guys, sorry I've been AWOL for a while, but migraines are horrid things and I'm only just now getting over it properly. When I can once again walk in a straight line without holding onto a wall, I will be very happy. Until then, here's the last chapter of Voulez Vous. I'm actually going to miss this. I hope it lives up to your expectations, and I know for a fact that I am not done with X-Men. See you in the next story.

Oh, and Ru55el, Ivy, courtneykutie, and anyone else who I've forgotten who asked for a specific scene in this chapter; your wish is my command. You'll know which one I mean when you see it ) I do read all reviews, even if I don't have time to respond to them, and thank you to everyone who leaves one! Enjoy the story.

Disclaimer: I have no money, but many plotbunnies to feed. I wonder if they'll eat each other? That way, I might get more time to write my dissertation, rather than cater to the annoying fic ideas running through my head.

* * *

><p>Remy is scaring her.<p>

The look on his face when he stood in his kitchen was... calculating is the only word she can think of that fits. He's planning something, and whatever it is, she's pretty sure she isn't going to like it. Any plan that involves Assassins can't be a good thing.

She hugs him tight as he drives her back to the mansion, less to avoid falling off and more to just hold him close while she can. He's leaving her. She knew it was coming, but she never imagined it would be under these circumstances. Of the many ways she's thought he might leave, fleeing for his life never made the list.

At least he's not leaving because of her.

She's not sure why he insisted on driving her home – some 'gentleman' thing perhaps, or maybe he just wants to spend as much time with her as possible before he has to leave – but she's glad he is. She buries her face in his spine and breathes in the scent of his trench coat; leather, spices and cigarettes. She's going to miss him. She'll miss his touch, certainly, but that's the least of it. His smile, the way his eyes glow when he's happy or excited, his accent, his hands, his smell, his hair, the way he calls her _his_. He has no idea just how right he is.

They reach the mansion gates in just under fifteen minutes, and Rogue dismounts slowly, feeling the tears well up again. She holds them back, leans down to kiss him one last time, then allows her feet to leave the ground as she prepares to fly back to her room. She's going to have to tell Ororo that she's sick; no way can she teach today. She won't be fit for anything but sulking for quite a long time. Until he calls her, she won't even be able to sleep. Is this the way he felt yesterday, seeing that building collapse on her? Is this why he sought her out, broke into the mansion and stole her away?

She wants to go back to last night, and pretend that this morning never happened.

She wants to tell him how she feels before he leaves her life forever, even if he doesn't reciprocate.

She wants to kiss him and never let go.

She can't do any of it.

Sighing, she floats backwards. "Bye, sugar," she breathes, her gaze locked on his. There is a crimson glow deep in his eyes. "Be safe."

He nods, then kicks the stand down and dismounts also, wrapping his arms around her waist and planting lots of little kisses across her hair. Behind her, the mansion gates creak as they open. She pales. Damnit, whoever's manning the cameras must have seen them out here. Remy looks up at the noise, then grabs her hand and tows her behind him as he heads towards the front door of the mansion. She puts her feet on the ground to stop him, but her shock at his actions make her reactions slow, and they are already standing on the front steps by the time she manages.

The doors open to reveal the only way this could get any worse. She groans and bites her lip. Bobby turns his glare from Gambit to her, then back to Remy.

"You're looking very friendly with my girlfriend there," he says coldly, ice forming around his knuckles. Remy looks him up and down appraisingly, then turns his attention to Rogue and tilts his head to indicate the irate boy stood before them.

"This is Bobby?"

She nods, unsure how to read his tone. It soon becomes apparent. He nods thoughtfully, turns back to Bobby, and punches him in the jaw. Bobby falls backwards clutching his split lip and looking utterly shocked. Rogue is in a similar state.

"What?" she manages to squeak out, looking between Bobby, who is still lying on the floor looking somewhat dazed, and Gambit, whose eyes are flashing scarlet and fixed on the boy he's just punched.

"That's what I'd like to know."

Logan's voice snaps Rogue's attention to the entrance hall, where the feral is standing along with Ororo and Kitty. The two women are in a state of shock similar to Rogue's, but Logan seems to have a better grasp of what the hell just happened. Maybe he can tell her, because she sees no logic in this at all.

Logan steps forward, crossing his arm and looking between the three in the doorway. "Rogue, who's the guy?"

He meets her gaze squarely, and she knows that he recognises Remy's scent. She swallows and steps a little in front of him. "Gambit."

"He was out front with her," Bobby interjects, finally finding his voice and his feet at the same time. He and Gambit are still glaring daggers at each other. He pulls his hand from his cheek, and Rogue sees that he's iced over where he got hit. How hard did Remy punch him?

He sneers at the older mutant and steps forward, apparently getting his bravado back with backup. "You do know her powers, right, creep? You can't touch her. I don't know what you want with her, but she can't give you that."

Rogue feels her cheeks flush with heat, and her hands form fists at her sides. "Bobby, that's enough!"

"I'll say!" he yells, turning on her. "What do you think you're doing with him? What did he say to you, huh? Did he..."

Remy swings for him again, and again he goes down, this time grasping his nose, which is bleeding profusely.

"Don't," Gambit growls, striding past Rogue to stand, glowering, at the fallen mutant's feet. "Don't you talk to her that way. Don't you even look at her."

Bobby shoves himself upright again, eyes narrowed in anger, and throws a punch of his own. Remy dodges and kicks at his legs, almost sending him down for a third time. Bobby grabs onto the trench coat and freezes it, ignoring the blood dribbling over his lip as he tries to hit Gambit. Rogue forces her arms in between them and shoves them in opposite directions, using more force that strictly necessary to ensure they get the point. They both hit the ground hard, but while Remy gets straight back up, Bobby lies on his side groaning and coughing. She feels a tingling sensation in her hands, and realises that she isn't wearing any gloves. She's just absorbed Bobby, not enough to do any real damage if his moaning is anything to go by, but she has his powers and a little bit more of him in her head, yelling at her about Gambit.

She ignores the irate psyche and forces the cold back from her hands. Kitty has run forward and is helping Bobby to his feet, Logan is standing in the same spot as before, one eyebrow raised as he watches the fight, and Ororo is trying and failing to keep the entire population of the school from gathering around, looking for the source of the shouting. She hears one girl – Rogue doesn't know her name offhand – tell those behind her that 'some hot guy just punched Drake in the nose'. Someone else hollers that the two are fighting over Rogue. She groans and tries to regain some semblance of control over the situation.

"Gambit, what do you think you're doing?" she hisses, turning to him and placing herself between him and Bobby. He looks down at her with a smile and reaches up to brush her white hair behind her ear.

"Something you should have done a long time ago," he says softly. Rogue hears several people shushing the crowd so they can hear the conversation, and turns to yell at them, but his hands on her shoulders keep her attention on him. "The ice-prick needs taking down a peg, and I'm happy to be the one to do it. Call it a present, hein?"

"Remy," she breathes, unsure if she's telling him off or swooning slightly at the way he's trying to protect her. He shushes her and runs his hand through her hair again, twisting the curls around his fingers. She closes her eyes and concentrates on the feeling. Screw the onlookers, and screw Bobby too.

"I just wanted to do that before..."

She nods and opens her eyes. "Yeah. I know. I'm not sure whether I should be thanking you or slapping you, but I get it. I think."

He chuckles and pulls her closer to him, pressing their bodies together from chest to knee. Gasps break out from the watchers, and she hears Bobby start up again, but then Remy brushes his lips against hers, she decides that Bobby can wait.

"Je t'aime, Anna," he whispers against her lips. Logan stiffens behind her, but she doesn't think anybody else hears his confession. She's not certain that she hears him right until he repeats it, a little louder and firmer. She gapes at him. He doesn't wait for her to recover; he runs his hands over her spine, plunges his fingers into the hair at the back of her head, and pulls her in. The second his lips touch hers, the rest of the world fades away, and she kisses back, moulding herself to him. There is background noise; wolf-whistles, amazed muttering and what sounds like Bobby being restrained, but she ignores it all and pours her heart into this moment, into this one kiss.

Oh god, she's in love with him.

Too soon, he begins to pull away, and she reluctantly lets him. She buries her face in his chest, and he rests his chin on top of her head as he hugs her tight.

"Je t'aime," he says again, loud enough for everyone to hear, then lets her go and backs up towards the door. She blinks and floats after him; if he thinks she's letting him just leave after that, he has another thing coming.

She's not the only one thinking like that.

Bobby breaks free of Kitty and Jubilee's arms and runs towards the door. Rogue growls and uses his own powers against him, icing over the floor and sending him skidding uncontrollably into a wall. Then she takes off after Remy. He is already on his bike, headed away from the mansion. She speeds up and lands on the road in front of him. He curses and swerves to a stop three inches in front of her.

"Don't do that!" he yells, breathing heavily. She scowls at him and moves forward, almost straddling the front tyre.

"Do you really think you can do all that; kiss me in front of them, tell me that you _love me_, and then just take off? What prompted all that, huh? What are you doing?"

"Anna..."

"No, Remy, tell me. What the _hell_ are you thinking?" She calms down at the helpless look in his eyes, and reaches forward to place her hand on top of his on the handlebars. "What are you going to do now?"

He doesn't answer, but she can read the response in his face. Her temper flares again, and he winces as her grip on his hand tightens. "You're going after them? Are you insane? They. Will. _Kill_. You. Do you get that? Dead, Remy. Gone. What happened to skipping town?"

For several seconds, he doesn't answer. Just as she's about to start shouting at him again, he sighs and replies.

"I can't risk it. They might have seen you; I can't risk them coming to the mansion looking for moi."

She shakes her head. "So you thought you'd sacrifice yourself instead? You stupid ass, Remy. That's exactly what they want."

"I won't let them hurt you!" he yells, restarting the engine and revving the bike. "Move, chère. It's the only way I _know_ they won't come after you. Any of you."

She shakes her head again. "No. I'm not moving. You're not going anywhere near them."

"Anna, please," he asks, begging now. Her heart breaks at the look in his eye. "I can't let them hurt you."

She smiles at him and moves back a little, rounding the bike until she's stood beside him. She wraps her left arm around his chest, kissing him tenderly until he responds.

"I can't let them hurt you either, sugar," she whispers, bringing her right hand up fast towards his chin. It connects with a snap, and he falls limp in her arms, sagging against her. She leans over him and switches the engine off.

"Sorry about that," she murmurs gently, pulling him from the bike and cradling his unconscious form against her. "But I couldn't let you go do something so stupid, now, could I?"

She flies him to her room, entering via the balcony and laying him on her bed. She goes back to the bike briefly, bringing it inside the grounds before returning to him. He'll be mad enough when he wakes as it is; no need to drive him further up the wall by abandoning his bike by the side of the road.

She pushes the last vestiges of Bobby's powers into her left hand and places it against Remy's jaw, where the red puffiness is already beginning to show. He moans and twitches away from the cold, but doesn't wake. She sighs and runs her free hand through his hair.

"What am I going to do with you?" she whispers.

Her bedroom door opens hard enough to slam against the wall, and Bobby stalks in, glaring at the pair on the bed. Rogue glares right back and shifts to face him, but doesn't move her hand from Gambit's chin. Bobby seems to take this as a personal insult.

"What the hell, Rogue?" he yells. "Who is that? What just happened down there? You _attacked_ me!"

She snarls at him, and he shuts up immediately. Her anger flushes the rest of his power from her system; she feels the tingling in her hand stop and lets go of Remy's face, standing and stalking towards Bobby. He backs up a step at the look in her eye.

"You were being as ass. You don't care about me; you haven't for months. So, the question is, why are _you_ making such a big fuss about this? Hell, it's the perfect opportunity to play the injured party, get a lot of sympathy, and go make out with Kitty without all the whispering. Who knows, maybe she'll give you the _good loving_ after getting such a _nasty_ shock," she spits, the sarcasm in her tone thick enough to walk on. His eyes widen and he falls back another step, almost out of the room now.

"You... you know about Kitty?"

Rogue snorts and thumps the doorframe. The wood creaks, and Bobby gulps and backs out into the hallway.

"I'm not stupid, nor am I blind. I just don't care what you do with her. Why do you care what Gambit can do with me? Huh? You don't love me. You haven't come within five feet of me in over a year. And suddenly, you care? No, Bobby, I don't buy that for one second. You're not angry 'cus of me. You're mad 'cus your pride's been hurt. Well, tough shit; I don't give a damn about your pride! It's over, Bobby, we're through. Understand? _I_ am breaking up with _you_. What's that doing to your pride?"

She grits her teeth, restraining the urge to imitate Remy and punch him in the nose.

"Go on, Bobby; run along to Kitty. Get the hell away from me before _I_ start throwing punches."

He backs up, wide-eyed, and all but runs away from her down the hall. She watches him go, eyes narrowed, and smirks when he's finally out of view. "Damn, that felt good," she mutters. Logan steps out of the doorway opposite, grinning at her.

"I'll say. About time, Kid."

She blinks. He takes that as an invitation to enter her room and stand by the bed, looking down at Remy. She hurries to his side.

"I know you're not happy about this, but..."

He snorts. "Not happy? Kid, I don't care who this guy is or what you're doing with him; he just punched Bobby in the face. You wouldn't let me do it, but he managed twice, so I'm going to assume he's something special and stay out of it."

She gapes at him for a second, thrown, then gives up on trying to understand and sits back on the bed beside Gambit, running her fingers along the back of his hand. He twitches towards the contact, and she entwines their fingers. Logan sits beside her, taking her free hand in both of his.

"What _did_ happen down there?" he asks, in a far more reasonable tone than Bobby managed. She sighs, takes a few deep breaths, then launches into the tale, starting right at the beginning. She tells him about the Cure failing, and her absorption of Ms Marvel. She tells him about seeing Bobby and Kitty the first time, and the club, then meeting Gambit. She tells him, carefully censoring the details, about their meet ups, and how he made her feel like she mattered. Finally, she talks about yesterday; the Advice Centre bombing, him coming to check on her, and her leaving with him. She stops there, not sure how to talk about this morning. Logan squeezes her hand in silence, waiting for her to finish. She shakes her head and squeezes back.

"There are people after him," she whispers finally, her voice hoarse from the explanation. "They're the ones who blew up the Mutant Advice Centre; they were trying to draw him out. They know he's here now, and if they find him, they'll kill him."

Logan nods, accepting this as easily as she did earlier. They both have far too much experience with near-death to question homicidal tendencies much anymore.

"That don't tell me why he's knocked out on your bed, Kid," he says, speaking for the first time since she started talking. His answer comes not from Rogue, but from Remy, who groans and shifts on the bed, waking up finally.

"Anna?" he asks groggily, raising his free hand to his chin and rubbing at the sore spot. "Damnit, that's the second time you've hit moi today," he mutters. Logan raises an eyebrow at her. She blushes and releases his hands, brushing her hair behind her ear so she doesn't have to meet his eye.

"I woke up and he was leaning over me. I panicked."

He nods; he had much the same reaction once, leading him to stab her through the chest. He knows exactly what she's talking about.

"So, Gambit," he asks, turning to the man who is slowly working his way to a sitting position. Rogue turns and helps him. He leans back against the wall and exhales shakily, glaring between the two sat before him.

"Oui, M'sieur?" he asks casually, wincing as he moves his jaw to speak. Logan glances at their still clasped hands and shakes his head.

"You can't ever make things easy, can you Kid?" he asks Rogue. She chuckles.

"I learned from you."

He grins at that, then turns back to the Cajun. "Why did Rogue feel the need to knock you out? Were you running?"

Rogue recognises that tone, and it doesn't bode well for Gambit. She shakes her head.

"Not like that, Logan. He was being stupid, trying to protect me."

"Nothing stupid about that," Remy argues, his eyes glowing. Rogue tightens her grip on his hand just enough to tell him not to try leaving again. He sighs and leans his head back on the wall. "There are people after moi; I think they saw Rogue. I'm not gonna let them hurt her."

"And I ain't gonna let them hurt you," she says, ignoring the way Logan is looking between them. "Going after them is suicide. I won't let you."

"Well, I can't stay here," he snaps, turning his attention to Logan. "The people coming after moi are Assassins," he states bluntly. "If I disappear, they're gonna go sniffing round to find out where I've gone. Rogue may be invulnerable, but there are a lot of kids at this school that ain't. You willing to put them at risk to protect a mutant Thief who's been sleeping with your Kid?"

Rogue glowers at him. He's trying to make Logan mad enough to throw him out. "You idiot, Remy," she barks, but the damage is done. Logan speaks over her.

"Don't talk to me like that, boy. I know what you and the Kid have been getting up to; it doesn't bother me. You stood up for her; you put Drake in his place. I like that. You made the Kid smile – I like that too. Not saying I like _you_, but you make her happy, and that's something she needs. Now, tell me this; were you playing Drake down there, or did you mean it?"

"Mean what?" Remy questions warily. Rogue thinks she knows where this is going. Logan glares.

"Are you in love with her?"

Rogue feels herself blush heavily. Remy squeezes her fingers, swallows, then nods. "Oui. I love her. That's why..."

Logan cuts him off, turning to look at Rogue. "What about you, Kid?"

She nods, looking to Remy and smiling. "Of course I do."

An odd look comes across Gambits face; a mixture of relief and pleasure, swiftly followed by a frown. She's making it harder for him to leave by telling him how she feels, which is why she didn't say anything before. Now, she'll shout it from the roof if it means he doesn't go.

Logan sighs, an air of long-suffering about his person. "Then stop behaving like spoiled brats. Gambit, the Kid's right, you're an idiot. There's a way out of this without you going looking for them."

Gambit opens his mouth to argue, but Logan doesn't let him speak. "But you can't stay here. Either of you."

They both pause and look to him. Rogue feels her eyes go very wide. He sighs and pulls her into a hug.

"Go. Both of you. Get out of the city. Let them see you someplace far away, and run like hell."

Remy makes a sound of protest, but Logan silences him with a glare before he can make any coherent noise.

"The X-Men can take care of themselves, and anybody wanting to touch those kids is going through me first. You can't stay here; if they're as bad as you say they'll keep at the mansion 'til we're all dead. But you can get out while they're still 'sniffing around'."

Rogue nods and lets go of him, turning to Remy. He closes his eyes and swears quietly, but nods.

"Oui. Fine."

Logan rolls his eyes. "Finally." He brushes a kiss across Rogue's hair, levelling a glare at Gambit as he stands. "Take care of her."

"Oui, M'sieur," Remy nods. Logan nods back and turns to Rogue.

"Call me when you're safe. And for god's sake, never make me have a conversation like this with you again."

She grins at him. "Yes Logan."

He turns and leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. Remy groans and swings his legs off the bed.

"Are you sure about this?" he asks her. She sighs.

"Stop trying to talk your way out of it. If you don't want me with you, that's one thing, but if you think I'm just gonna sit here and let you die, you have another thing coming."

She runs her hand over his cheek and kisses the end of his nose daintily. "I love you, you idiot. I'm not going to let them hurt you, and I'm not going to let you hurt yourself."

"It'll be dangerous," he says, once again trying to warn her off. She snorts at that.

"I'm an X-Man; so many people have tried to kill me, I've lost count. Besides, I'm invulnerable. You're more likely to get hurt than I am. I get the feeling I'll be spending quite a lot of time patching you up."

She scratches her fingers along his abs as she speaks, making him sigh and lean against her. He grins and kisses her forehead.

"Fine, you talked moi into it," he says grudgingly. She smiles at him.

"Good. Now, what are we taking?"

Fifteen minutes later finds Rogue back at Gambit's apartment, searching for the 'emergency bag' he claims is here. So far, she's searched under the bed, in and on the wardrobe, and has now moved into the living room in case he's dumped it in here someplace. No luck. She shakes her head.

"Why can men never leave things in the right places?" she asks the room in general, striding back into the bedroom. In his hurry to leave earlier, he left his cell phone on the bed. She picks it up and dials the mansion, massaging her temples. To her great surprise, Logan answers the phone.

"Yeah? What?"

Typical, she thinks, rolling her eyes. The man can't start a civil conversation even over the phone line.

"Logan, it's me. Patch me through to my room, would you? Gambit's hidden his bag, and I can't find it."

He grunts, and the next voice she hears is Remy's, sounding utterly confused. "Bonjour, Rogue's room."

"Remy, where did you stash this 'emergency bag' again?"

She hears his grin even over the line. "Anna! I told you, it's under the bed."

She huffs and eyes the rumpled duvet, irritated. "I looked under there, and all I found was dust bunnies. Ever heard of a vacuum, sugar?"

He snorts. "There's a loose floorboard by the head of the bed, right hand side."

Rogue sighs and rubs her temples with her free hand. "You have to hide things, don't you?"

"I'm a Thief, chérie. Makes moi a little cautious with my own belongings."

"Yeah yeah," she says dismissively, pushing the bed aside with her hip to clear the area he indicates. She kneels and probes the area with her fingertips. Sure enough, the floor shifts. She lifts one large board and espies the elusive bag beneath it. With a sigh, she tugs it from the hole and throws it over her shoulder. "Got it."

"Bon," he says, sounding smug. "Bring my cell back with you, hein? I got a wad of cash in the box in the living room too – metal thing, kinda ugly."

"When did I become a delivery gal?" she asks incredulously, trailing into the living room to find his box. It's sat by the television. She picks it up and turns it in her hand, looking for the lid. "How does this thing open anyway?"

"You can lift that?" he asks, amazed. She smirks down the line, hearing the pause before he chuckles. "Stupid question, huh. There's this complicated lock, but never mind about that. I was never too fond of that box."

She grins and clenches her fist, squashing the box until it cracks and falls into three pieces. She drops the bent metal onto the floor and picks up the roll of notes. She doesn't need to count it to know that she's holding more money in her hand than she's ever had in her life.

"God, Remy, where did you get all this?"

"Thief, chère," he chortles. "That's it from there I think. Nothing else I can't do without, anyway."

"Great, I'm coming back then. How're you doing with my packing?"

His reply is said in the most self-satisfied tone she's ever heard. "You didn't need anything other than lingerie, did you? 'Cus in that case, I'm all done."

"Ha ha," she deadpans, shaking her head and wondering if he's serious. She knew getting him to pack for her was a bad idea, but he needs his clothes too, and there was no way she was letting him out of the mansion without her to chaperone. So, she gets to play courier. Fun. "Please tell me you're kidding."

His reply is lost when her sixth sense suddenly goes haywire. She shoves the roll of money into her pocket along with the cell phone, makes sure the bag is secure on her shoulder, and heads for the window. Whatever's coming is not good.

The door breaks open with a thud as she reaches the window. Gunshots echo around her, and she feels one bullet hit her in the shoulder, but it doesn't do more than annoy her. It takes a lot more than a handgun to hurt her now. She snorts and spins to face the three men standing in the room with her. One of their bullets hits her in the forehead; she scowls and rubs at the impact.

"That one nearly hurt."

The gunfire stops, and the three regard her with confusion and caginess. She smiles at them sarcastically.

"You must be the Assassins. Sorry, Gambit's not here right now. I'm Rogue; can I help you?"

The three look at each other, then the youngest looking raises his gun and shoots again, hitting her in the chest three times. She sighs, flies over, pulls the gun from his grip and squashes it in her fist, allowing the twisted metal to fall at his feet. He looks at it, then back at her, pale. She tuts.

"Apparently, you can be stupid and still be an Assassin. I guess you don't need a brain to shoot people."

The man to her left drops his gun and jumps at her, a knife in his hand. She floats backwards. He misses her, and the knife rams into the shoulder of one of his associates. She shakes her head.

"Yeah, that ain't gonna work either."

The phone in her pocket has been making consistent muffled sounds since the guns started; she thinks Remy is probably yelling into it. She sighs and pulls it out so he can hear what's going on properly.

"Well guys, it's been fun, but I really have to go now. There's this hot Cajun waiting on me, and I don't want to worry him. See you around."

She waves casually at the stunned men before her, then flies straight through the window without bothering to open it first. Picking glass out of her hair, she rearranges the bag on her shoulder to make it more aerodynamic and heads back to the mansion at top speed. Remy is pacing around her bedroom when she alights on the balcony a few minutes later, running his fingers through his hair. It is sticking up wildly in all directions; she suspects he's been doing that since the fighting started.

He sees her and grabs her into a brief embrace, then pushes away and yells.

"What the hell were you thinking, Anna? Those were Assassins! You don't stand there and trade insults; you could have gotten shot!"

"I did," she says casually, poking her finger through a hole in her shirt. "They don't aim as well as I thought they would. Are you sure they kill people for a living? Looked more like hobbyists to me."

She shoots a grin at him. He sighs and shakes his head, calming down. "Yeah, real cute chère. I hope you know what you just got yourself into. Now they're gonna be after you too."

She kisses the end of his nose. "Well then, I guess that means you're stuck with me."

He grins and pulls her into a quick kiss. "Come on, before the trigger-happy bâtards get here."

He pulls the bag he's packed for her off the end of the bed. She raises an eyebrow at it in question, and he laughs. "There are actual clothes in there."

She's not sure whether she believes him, but with the roll of cash in her pocket she can buy a whole new wardrobe several times over, so she guesses it doesn't really matter. She nods and throws his bag into his arms also, scooping him up bridal style into her arms as he tries to balance them both. He yelps in surprise.

"Whoa! You got this backwards, chère; the _man_ supposed to carry the _woman_ like this."

She just grins and levitates them both to where she left his bike. He stashes their belongings and swings his leg over, shuffling forward so she can settle behind him. She does so, scooting close and pressing against his back. He grins over his shoulder at her as he starts the engine.

"You're like a bullet-proof vest that's actually comfortable," he quips. She pushes his chin so he's looking forwards.

"Just drive, Cajun."

"As the lady wishes," he says, revving the engine before taking off down the driveway like a bat out of hell. Rogue whoops as they go. She has no idea where they're going, but if he's going to drive like this the whole way, then it's going to be one hell of a ride.

She can hardly wait.


End file.
